


Redemption

by AnonGrimm



Series: Equilibrium: of Cruelty and Pain (Sabretooth) [2]
Category: Sabretooth - Fandom, Victor Creed - Fandom, X-Men (Comicverse)
Genre: "Foul" Language, Abuse, Bondage, Boom Boom - Freeform, Boomer - Freeform, Cannibalism, Dubious Consent, F/M, Felching, Geez it's Victor - I should list what isn't in this thing, Graphic Sex, Het and Slash, Hunters & Hunting, Hunting Humans, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Incest, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced Whipping, Kidnapping, Knifeplay, M/M, Meltdown, Misogyny, Pegging, Rape, Rape/Non-con Elements, Riding Crops, Rimming, Rough Oral Sex, Rough Sex, Sabretooth - Freeform, Self-Harm, Sexism, Torture, Violent Sex, Wolverine (cameos), extreme violence, implied/referenced animal cruelty, rough anal sex, the Slash is minimal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-04
Updated: 2015-08-15
Packaged: 2018-03-21 07:49:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 15
Words: 212,824
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3684078
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnonGrimm/pseuds/AnonGrimm
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sabretooth runs into Tabitha Smith, a.k.a. Meltdown. After a difficult mission in San Francisco, the mutant group X-Force disbands and Tabitha takes the opportunity to strike out on her own, ending up in Seattle. Running out of money, she tries mercenary work, but balks when her client expects her to kill up in Alaska. He gives her the job of stealing something from a bad man out in the Yukon instead and she reluctantly accepts. To her shock, her mark turns out to be Victor Creed. Her hang-ups about redemption lead her into danger again, but what game is Sabretooth really playing?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Crash and Burn

**Author's Note:**

> Please do not post this story anywhere without the author’s permission. Thanks. Feedback and constructive critiques are welcome, too. Just comment, email me at anongrimm@msn.com or tweet: @MET_Fic
> 
> Sabretooth is a gleeful villain and I don’t plan to redeem him here; if you like evil main characters, enjoy! If not, you might want to re-read the tags...
> 
> TIMELINE: This story occurs after X-Force Vol. 1 #115, the Sabretooth limited series, "Mary Shelley Overdrive", and prior to X-Men Vol. 2 #188. The story is set in late October through December 2002 (with the last chapters ending up in August 2003). It occurs after “Overdrive” and before the events in my “Blood Song” tale, and runs concurrent with the last part of my Wolverine fic, “Shattered Silence” and my Doc Ock fic, "Of Dreams and Dust". This fic is the third story in my Sabretooth series ("The Hunt: Three Our Fathers" takes place as one of the jobs Victor does in the back half of this tale).
> 
> My Sabretooth is based on the blonde mutant in the comics, in particular the version of him when they draw him sexy and write him as an intelligent, though brutal, character. Rather than make this note as long as the story, you can get more details at my personal fanfic blog: mindseyetheatre.net or look up Sabretooth on the Marvel Comics wikis and databases. Oh, and no, snow leopards aren’t native to the Yukon. I’ll explain later... Thanks for reading. - AnonGrimm (@MET_Fic)

Broke dick dog  
My head slung low  
Tail knocked in the dirt  
Time and time of being told  
Trash is all I'm worth

When I was just a young boy  
Had to take a little grief  
Now that I'm much older  
Don't put your shit on me

Primal scream and shout  
Let that mother out  
You just gotta say  
Primal scream and shout  
Oooh tear it out  
You just gotta say

Janou said  
Meters are red  
Blow a neurotic fuse Show a little  
A little pain  
Unlock a lotta truth

Hey man, get out of my face  
I deal with my problems at my own pace

If you wanna live life on your own terms  
You gotta be willing to crash and burn

~ Primal Scream (Mötley Crüe)

*****************************************************************

“Oh crap, oh crap, oh crap...”

Tabitha Smith, known to the world as the mutant hero Meltdown, slid open her cell phone and hit one of the speed dial keys with a shaking finger.

She stood near the doors of the Anchorage Police Department on Elmore Road, freezing in Alaska’s October as snow began to fall again. Huddling in her coat as she leaned against the building, she listened as the phone rang her client’s private line. Her mark, the man she’d been hired to deliver to him, was now in the custody of the police. They’d even thanked her for her help in apprehending the dangerous murderer.

When the call was picked up and she heard his voice, Tabitha began attempting to explain, but he cut her off after a few rushed words.

“It’s over, Meltdown; I’ve already heard of your failure. I hope you enjoy Anchorage, as you won’t be returning to Seattle on my nickel.”

“Wait, Mr. Rothenberg! Maybe I could salvage the situation –”

“Kill him.”

“What?”

“Salvage the situation and collect your fee, by killing the man.”

“He’s sitting in the middle of a police station!”

“Is that really an obstacle for a person of your talents?”

Her shocked voice lowered in anger. “I’m not a killer.”

“Then our business is concluded – by your abysmal failure. Not the best outcome for your first attempt at contract work, is it?”

“They’re going to lock him up for life. Isn’t that just as good? He’s still ‘neutralized’, isn’t he?”

“He is capable of speech, so he will eagerly tell the authorities anything he can to make a better deal. My business dealings will be a large part of what he has to offer them.”

“Give me another shot. I’ll go anywhere; don’t you have something you need blown up or stolen? I’m good at that.” He was silent a moment and Tabitha held her frozen breath.  _Don’t beg, can’t think, can’t feel my feet!_

“Something stolen, is it?”

“Yeah?” She stomped her boots in the slush, one of them kicking the duffel bag that held all she owned.

“There is a man; he’s stolen something quite valuable from me. If you were to retrieve it, I would call our business concluded – satisfactorily.”

“Okay, I’m on it. Got the ‘who, what, where’?”

“Go back to the airport. I will have a man meet you there within the hour with all the information you will need. He will take you to Faro and from there, you will have to find your own way to reclaim my property.”

“Right, no problem. You won’t be sorry, Mr. Rothenberg.”

“This man is very powerful and quite … dangerous.”

“I eat danger for breakfast. How will I know who your guy is, at the airport?”

“He will know you. Goodbye, Meltdown. Happy hunting.”

“Wait, what about – I know I flubbed this here, with the cops, but … I have no money.”

“My man will have a small advance for you, for your retrieval mission, and I will pay you $100,000 for the return of my property. As for this job, you haven’t earned a cent.”

“$100,000...” She couldn’t form words as the number hung in her head.

“Consider it hazard pay.”

“Where is Faro?” She glared at the phone when she heard the click. “Asshole. Well, Tab, maybe it’s in Hawaii, but I kinda doubt it.”  _Man, that’s a lot of money. I could do … anything … with a paycheck like that. Of course, got to earn it first. Quit dreaming and get moving – it’s the old survival game; you know you never forgot how to play._

Sighing, she put her phone away and picked up her duffel, turned and entered the police department. Finding the young officer who had offered her a ride, she approached him with a smile.

“Can I change my mind? I need a lift to the airport.”

~ ~ ~

_The Yukon … in Canada. This isn’t getting me any closer to home_ _– not getting me any warmer, either. Damn it!_

Shuddering in the passenger seat of the truck, Tabitha tried to ignore the anti-social pilot turned driver and slid the information he’d given her out of the manila envelope. Typed pages, a blurry photo, a grimy schematic of a monster of a house, and a joke amount of Canadian dollars spilled into her lap. Picking up the photo, she frowned at it. The man was big, but that was about all she could make out.

“Hey, Phil – do you know anything about this Richard Fisk? Can’t tell a thing from this crappy photo.”

The man glanced at her and then watched the road again. They’d flown in a plane the size of a pack of gum to a dinky airstrip that time forgot; then came the truck that time forgot. Throughout the trip, the man had said about seven words to her; the seventh had been his name.

“Murderer for hire, bloody rich one.”

 _Thirteen words. Go, Phil!_  “So he’s a bad guy, huh?” Smirking at his glowering look, she added, “Yeah, call me Captain Obvious. We there yet? Getting tired of snow.”

“Faro won’t amuse you, then. One more hour, in this weather.”

“Joy. About this ‘Goshana’ Fisk swiped, is she a daughter, niece, playmate, what?”

“Don’t know anything about it, or her. Boss wants her back.”

“Duh, I gathered – but if Fisk is a killer, what if she’s dead?” When he didn’t answer, she gave up.  _At least this has been upgraded to a rescue mission; I wasn’t wild about getting back to my thieving roots._

She tried to go over the information on the pages, but it was hard to concentrate on the words as they jumped around in the rattletrap truck. Finally shoving it all back into the envelope, she stared out at the gray and white world.

_How the hell did I get here? Got sick of risking my butt with X-Force long before we ‘died’. Then those loser freaks tried to steal our team’s name after we went underground, but was it worth it to surface just to fight for it? X-Force disbanded; me and Sam disbanded, too. After rattling around in California at loose ends, Seattle sounded cool_ _, until Rothenberg complicated my life. I needed the money, though – money I didn’t get. Bastard. I’m not killing jack for you. Still, Tab, you didn’t need to get mixed up with that mook. You could’ve taken care of yourself._

Leaning the envelope against her chest, she dragged her coat over her jeans and buried her gloved hands in the deep pockets again. The window beside her had a gap at the top that wouldn’t close and the frigid wind moved her short blonde curls, freezing her face and neck.

Trying to suppress another shudder, she thought bitterly about how she’d been taking care of herself in Seattle. The club hadn’t been sleazy and it was a far cry from the street corner she’d always feared she’d end up on, but swinging around a pole in a thong wasn’t the best way for a former hero to make a buck.

The last night she worked there, she had met Karl Rothenberg. When he called her Meltdown and made a shady business offer instead of asking for a lap dance, she hadn’t been able to hide her shock.

She had told him she wasn’t interested in being a hired thug and walked off to return to the dressing room. Right before she escaped, a cry of excitement from the girls by the door made her pause. A man in biker duds had walked in, a short but muscled fellow with crazy black hair. When she recognized Wolverine, she’d run into the bathroom in the back and nearly thrown up.

 _Staying quit being an option damn quick, but maybe I could have just gotten dressed and gone out to talk to him? Asked him to help me out?_  Her pride burned, rejecting the idea.  _Call me crazy, but Rothenberg’s offer was the lesser of evils in that choice._

Tabitha never knew it when she dropped off to sleep, mashed against the truck door. She woke with a start when the vehicle stopped and the driver’s door opened and slammed shut.

“Wow. If this is Faro, I’m not going to have a good day.”

She was staring though frosted glass at a long gray three-story building. A sign declared it was the Faro Studio Hotel.

Phil returned and opened her door, the wind blowing his brown coat around his skinny legs. “This is it, girl.”

“Great. Thanks for the stimulating company, dude.”  _Thirty-nine words. I bet that’s a new record for the Phil-ster._

Wrapping the winding red string to close the envelope, she tucked it under her arm. She grabbed her duffel from the floor at her feet, climbed out of the truck, and walked off to the hotel’s entrance without looking back. The truck started again and rumbled off a moment later.

She wanted a room, a real bed, a shower, and sleep. The hotel staff helped her achieve this goal with smiles of welcome and assured her that she’d love her stay in Faro.

Smiling back at them just because they’d been too nice to give any attitude to, she took her key and collapsed on the bed the minute after the door was locked.

~ ~ ~

According to the clock on the wall, it was after midnight by the time she woke up. Groaning when she realized she’d slept on top of the covers in her coat, she struggled up and started stripping down for a shower. The room had a private bathroom and a kitchenette, details she’d barely noticed that afternoon.

The shower was hot, with decent water pressure and she gratefully washed off the grime of the road, letting the water massage her back and neck before washing her hair a second time.

It had grown more since she’d cropped it close to her skull after adopting the name Meltdown. With the length came the curls, but she’d let it grow in spite of preferring the more severe look.

When she was almost scrubbed raw, she shut the water off and opened the narrow shower stall door, annoyed at the curls as they dripped water down her face.

“Strippers are supposed to be pretty, right?” she asked her wriggly reflection in the fogged mirror. “I don’t ever have to go back to that, though. Not a hero anymore, either, that’s for damn sure… So what am I?”

Leaving the bathroom, she walked by the pile of dirty clothes on the floor and unzipped her duffel. She didn’t have any pajamas, but a t-shirt would do. Smoothing the long green shirt over her slender body, she smiled when it reached to her knees. Sam had looked for it for days. It didn’t smell like him anymore, but it was his and that was enough.

Before going back to bed, she went to a window and looked out. It wasn’t snowing, but a thick blanket of it covered everything outside. From her third floor room, she could see around a bit, but it was eerily dark for a town.

“What did that woman say? Four hundred people in the whole place?”

Loneliness crowded in. She was used to having a lot of people around, a lot of noise. She opened the window for a minute and smirked when she heard a distant howl coming from the dark trees in the distance.

“Super. I’ve traded my ‘bright lights, big city’ for the set of  _The Wolfman_.”

Shuddering instantly, she was about to close the window again when she stiffened. In the dark, a large shape had moved and a spooky feeling of being watched crept over her. She almost created a small time bomb in her palm, just in case, but then shook her head.

“Gone snow blind, Tab, it’s just a tree or a dumpster or something. Go to sleep and worry about everything else in your messed up life tomorrow.”

Shutting the window with a snap, she locked it and crawled into bed. Her dreams were filled with scenes of shame and defeat, moments of guilt and self-hatred, both in X-Force and out. Yet they were more merciful than the nightmares that waited beneath the flotsam of her recent days.

In the darkest hour before light would return to the sky, her sleeping mind turned darker. There was blood there, and a loss too deep for words. Striking across her sleep was a hand – a hand she had held once, to go walking through a strange world of holographic lies. It rose, the fingers spreading, the claws sliding out, sharp and cruel. When it struck, spraying her face with blood, she couldn’t scream.

Terrified, she looked down at the woman on the floor, the injury too horrible to look at, too horrible to look away from. When the body on the floor changed, the black hair shortening, curling, turning to gold, Tabitha opened her mouth and prayed – prayed that she’d be able to scream.

*****************************************************************

He was blind, the pain of the blades ripping through his senses. Everywhere, the fire consumed, withering flesh, until the shining metal bones gleamed. Victor roared, pushing through the pain, flashing metal claws reaching even as the hair, skin, and meat of the arms fell away.

The prey stepped back, out of reach, the stink of the flamethrower chemicals and the human’s fear receding as his face began to melt.

Then the prey screamed, falling forward into the hissing snow. It was the last sound he heard before he fell. Striking the melting slush, he used the last muscles he had to roll his body down the sloping side of the mountain. Blackness soared up to eat his consciousness long before what remained of him came to a stop in a snowdrift at the bottom.

~ ~ ~

He woke to pain. Something heavy was pressed against his side, the feel of it agony on his slowly knitting flesh. When he moved away from it, it growled. He’d have smiled, but his face wasn’t quite repaired enough for that yet.

 _So ya did it – followed an’ killed tha bastard fer me? Good kitty,_ he thought.

Settling into her solid muscle, ignoring the pain of her fur against his regenerating skin, Victor remained still and let his healing factor work to restore his body as it had his mind.

It was over an hour before he could struggle to sit up, breath panting as his mutant gift brought back enough muscle so that he could lift his hands and yank the short blades of the throwing stars out of his eyes. Blood flowed down the irregular planes of his face, the fresh pain making him growl.

His sense of smell returned next, telling him it was still night and that the prey was dead over his head, farther up the mountainside. He had rolled almost as far as the edge of the trees, nearly all the way into the Tintina Valley. Below him, the smells of the town of Faro were coming clearer.

Reaching out, his palm stroked over his companion’s fur. The tingling buzz of new skin there itched a little. He retracted the claws from his fingers to avoid cutting her skin under the thick coat.

Once they grew, he tried to open his eyelids, impatient for his sight to be restored.

“Aw, come on, damn it, heal!” When he could, he smiled at the soft chuffing sound beside him. “Gimme a minute, darlin’; takes a bit when they set my ass on fire.”

Leaning forward, he tried opening his eyes again and finally began to see the tips of his charred boots poking up out of the snow. Waiting until they stopped being blurry, he took a deep breath and turned his head.

The snow leopard was watching him as she lay close, lending him the warmth of her body. She was 120 pounds of muscle and eight feet long from nose to tail tip, with fangs and claws almost as impressive as his. Her coat was smoky gray with a white undercoat, covered with dark gray and black rosettes with small dark spots on her head, legs, and thick tail. Her silver-gray eyes were serene, the scent of human blood on her fangs a comforting perfume.

“How ‘bout givin’ a man a hand up?” When he tried to stand, she rose and let him put his hand on her back. “’Preciate it.” Stretching to his full height, he let a sigh slip from newly healed lips.

The clothes he’d worn were a total loss, most of them falling away from his body in scorched swatches of black cloth and leather. He kicked off the remains of the boots as well and reveled in the feel of the frozen wind as it blew through the blonde hair that had started to grow again on his head, face, and body. He didn’t feel the cold with any more discomfort than the cat did.

Turning his head, he glared at the town below him. Faro was mostly dark this late, but a few windows still gleamed with light. Snorting, he turned his back on it.

“Let’s go collect tha stinkin’ human offal an’ go home. Ya hungry? Grab somethin’ on tha way if ya want. I’d be tempted t’ have roasted jackass, but he’s probly stiff already.”

He started to trudge back up into the Anvil Range, the night landscape as clear to his sight as it was to his feline companion. She bounded up faster though, as if teasing him.

“Yeah, yeah – don’t rub it in; I’ll be up t’ snuff soon. Not like ya’d fair any better with yer tail crisped off.”

A wolf howled, not far away. Growling, not wanting to have to fight for their kill, Victor tried to pick up the pace.

Abruptly, a weirdly familiar scent on the wind stopped him cold. Facing the town again, his eyes and nose picked out a lighted window of the distant hotel, on the third floor. The slender silhouette there had opened the sliding glass, allowing her smell to find him.

Sorting through all that the scent told him, his lips stretched into a broad grin. She shouldn’t be there and why she would be was a stumper – but solving that mystery would have to wait.

_Gotta mess t’ clean up, an’ need a bit o’ rest an’ a lot o’ protein before sniffin’ ‘round that. Still, could be profitable – an’ would be a helluva good time._

Chuckling at the feline gruff moaning sound of impatience above him, he started up the snow-glutted mountainside again. Reaching the corpse, he leaned down and hauled it up in one hand by its ammo belt. Snagging the business end of the flamethrower with a finger, he held it all up out of the snow and lugged it off with him.

The Kevlar body armor, helmet, and backpack-mounted fuel cylinders made it heavy, but as his strength continued to leak back into fresh muscle mass, the burden became lighter as he went.

It took longer than usual to make the trek back to the safe house, even after he felt strong enough to shoulder the corpse and run part of the way, but they reached it before sunrise. For the cat’s sake, he had used a section of the closed North Canol Road to avoid the MacMillan River.

Victor didn’t pause at the point where the motion sensors would have dealt with any intruder: they were coded to his voice. One verse of a Monty Python song was more than the system needed to identify him, but his mood had picked up considerably since being torched.

His furry guest slunk and padded at his knee, staying close. The system wouldn’t harm an animal, but he figured it wasn’t a bad habit for her to develop.

When the spiked iron gate appeared, she grew more nervous, preferring the woods and mountain peaks looming over it to the rambling mansion built into the side of the Selwyn Mountains.

The road, little more than a dirt track in summer, was covered with snow. Victor thought about going around and up into the mountains to re-enter his house from the same hidden rocky passage he’d emerged from before to go hunting, but the thought of hauling the corpse all that way wasn’t appealing.

“Sorry ‘bout this, but tha front door’s easier,” he told the cat.

Walking over to the keypad post, he draped the flamethrower nozzle over his shoulder, lifted the metal cover, and entered the code. With a squeal of metal that made both of them wince and snarl, the automatic gate split and began to open. He slipped inside, managing not to bump the helmet on the gate.

As soon as the snow leopard slunk in after him, he punched the code on the inside keypad and waited for the gate to close before turning and heading up to the house.

There was a lot of land inside his fences, enough to support a variety of game. Catching a scent, the big cat bounded away.

“Happy huntin’,” he told her.

Entering another code next to the wide double doors, Victor pushed them open with a foot. Dropping the armored body on the polished wood floor of the entrance hall, he shut and locked the doors behind him.

“Ah, you’re back, sir, I was just...”

Victor grinned at the shock on his servant’s face when he saw his boss return nude and carting a corpse.

The man was human, in his forties, and he looked and dressed like a lumberjack, a fact that always amused Victor. Brys Cuvier was a better chef than a woodsman and he talked like a cultured French waiter.

“I found tha vermin ya were worried ‘bout yesterday. He was still pokin’ ‘is nose ‘round Faro; fucker set me on fire.”

“Did you want … ah, that is...”

“He ain’t fer breakfast, Brys. I want tha weapons, clothes, an’ armor; toss tha rest in tha oubliette. Have Perrin do it, I need yer ass in tha kitchen. Somethin’ beef, venison, whatever, lots. Bring it up, I’m gonna crash.”

“Yes, sir. Perrin is upstairs now; if you send him down, I’ll get him on it.”

Without answering, Victor went to the broad grand staircase at the end of the hall and climbed up to the third floor master suite. The double doors were open and the second human in residence was just finishing straightening up the oversized four poster bed.

Perrin Marseau was the younger and prettier of the matched French Canadian set and by far the grittier of the two. Stripping a corpse and dragging it to a hole in the ground wouldn’t bother him a bit.

Victor popped his claws and clacked them on one of the doors to alert the boy. He looked up, saw the condition of his boss, and sighed.

“Another custom coat gone?”

“Burnt t’ cinders. Meat that did it’s downstairs; Brys knows what I want done.”

“Where is your furry shadow?”

“Huntin’. Open that window, tha one over tha rock ledge. She’ll find me when she wants.”

“You were burned?”

“Yup – way too damn much o’ me fer comfort. Brys’s bringin’ up food. Out with ya, after tha window.”

The slender but strong young man wore jeans, boots, and a thick sweater. He crossed the room to open the window and checked on the blaze in the massive fireplace before heading to the doors where Victor still stood.

“Did you need anything else, Mr. Creed?”

His head came up to his ribs. Brys actually reached Victor’s shoulder. Both men generally smelled like each other, since they shared a bed, but this one had been in his here and there as well.

Placing a hand on the back of his neck, Victor used it to steer him out through the doors, relatively gently.

“Out. I want sleep an’ food. If ya find any I.D. on tha dead fucker, take it t’ tha study.”

“Certainly. Sleep well, Mr. Creed.”

Victor didn’t wait to watch him close the doors. Collapsing on the bed, he rolled onto his stomach and passed out. At some point before his breakfast arrived, he woke just enough to register that the snow leopard had found her way in.

She leapt up onto the bed and curled up at his back, a deep and steady purr lodged in her throat. Smiling, he gave her a low purr of his own and drifted off to sleep again, far too deeply for even his most persistent nightmares to follow.

~ ~ ~

The cat’s hiss woke him, but the intruder was Brys with his food. Laying his palm on her shoulders to comfort her, he sat up with a groan. His skin hadn’t been ready for clothes yet, so he made the man deal with his nudity a bit longer.

Setting the tray on the bed beside him, the Frenchman backed away so that the leopard would relax again.

“Perrin found another tattoo on your, ah, vermin, sir. It’s the same symbol.”

Victor ignored the silver utensils and speared one of the venison steaks with his claws, biting off half of it and swallowing with a satisfied purr before answering. It had been scared a bit by a fire on both sides, just the way he liked it – when it wasn’t fresh off the hoof.

“Guess tha ol’ boy’s tryin’ again. Sendin’ one alone seems oddly stupid, though, even if he was armed t’ tha teeth.”

“Should we turn on all of the security devices within the perimeter, sir?”

“Naw, don’t bother. Our guest isn’t used t’ all o’ that, an’ I don’t want ‘er on a punji stick by mistake.” He finished the meat and speared another. “There’s a new toy in town, down in Faro; skirt’s a member o’ tha spandex union, or she was. I’d love t’ invite ‘er fer supper, but it’d probly take duct tape t’ keep ‘er in tha chair.”

“Will you be going out to fetch her?”

“Nope, not yet. This one’s got tha brass an’ tha means t’ torch me ‘erself, an’ once a week’s ‘nuff fer me. Just thinkin’ out loud’s all. Got that job comin’ up in Vancouver; smellin’ this frail got my wheels turnin’ somethin’ fierce.”

“After your meal, shall I send Perrin up?”

“No. Gonna sleep ‘til I’m done. Skin’s still repairin’, tha nerves’re makin’ me crazy, an’ some stuff inside’s a bit too sloshy yet fer my likin’.” Eyeing the man a moment, a slow smirk tugged at his lips. “Don’t bother ya, huh? Sharin’ yer boy?”

“It doesn’t bother me. He’s … very amorous afterward and I’ve found it quite … entertaining.”

Victor grunted. “What if I wanted ya on yer own belly?” Grinning broadly at the flutter of nervous stink that rose from the man’s plaid flannel shirt, he let him off the hook. “Don’t sweat it, Brys – yer not my type. ‘Sides, tha boy looks better in scars an’ he can’t cook worth a damn.”

Relief flooding his scent, the man backed away a step. “Will there be anything more, sir?”

“Not a thing.”

When the doors closed again, he settled into eating with gusto. He would have preferred to catch his meat just like his furry guest had and in fact they had often hunted together since he’d brought her here, but his body needed rest not the thrill of the chase.

For the same reason, he had decided to let the X-baby have her peace, at least for now.

Biting into another hunk of venison, his tongue lashed out to catch some of the juices before they could drip from his chin. He called up the memory of her scent, his low purr starting up again.

 _Whatever tha fuck yer doin’ here, Tabitha, yer in my territory now._  He finished off another slab of meat, feeling his healing factor buzz inside his skin.  _Soon as I’m up t’ playin’ with ya, we’re gonna have us a chat an’ this time, frail, I’ll bring tha fuckin’ milk an’ watch while ya lap it up._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For a timeline, this tale is taking place after my Wolverine and Doc Ock tales come to a close. In this chapter, Tabitha is referring to events in and after X-Force Vol. 1 # 115. X-Force is believed to have died in an explosion during a mission, but they only went underground. Then an upstart batch of mutants tried to steal their team name and they resurfaced to claim it back. Afterward, X-Force disbanded and the members went their separate ways. Sam Guthrie, aka Cannonball of the X-Men, is her ex-boyfriend. They had parted, reunited, and then broke up again after the team disbanded. Her history with Sabretooth has been a heartbreaking and brutal one. More details can be found (as well as the milk references) in X-Force Vol. 1 # 44 thru 48 and Uncanny X-Men Vol. 1 # 328. In the latter issue, Sabretooth taunts Tabitha into attacking him, which releases him from his restraints. In his escape, he eviscerated Psylocke and Tabitha witnessed it with the X-Man telepath’s blood on her face. Oh, and no, snow leopards aren’t native to the Yukon. I’ll explain later... Thanks for reading. This tale will have a bit of on the sidelines Slash, but it will be primarily Hetero. (@MET_Fic) - AnonGrimm


	2. Revelations

Something in me, dark and sticky  
All the time it's getting strong  
No way of dealing with this feeling  
Can't go on like this too long

This time you've gone too far  
This time you've gone too far  
I told you, I told you, I told you

Don't talk back  
Just drive the car  
Shut your mouth  
I know what you are  
Don't say nothing  
Keep your hands on the wheel  
Don't turn around  
This is for real

Digging in the dirt  
Stay with me, I need support  
I'm digging in the dirt  
To find the places I got hurt  
Open up the places I got hurt

The more I look, the more I find  
As I close on in, I get so blind  
I feel it in my head, I feel it in my toes  
I feel it in my sex, that's the place it goes

I'm digging in the dirt  
Stay with me I need support  
I'm digging in the dirt  
To find the places I got hurt  
To open up the places I got hurt  
Digging in the dirt  
To find the places we got hurt

~ Digging in The Dirt (Peter Gabriel)

*****************************************************************

Tabitha woke out of breath, clutching at her stomach as the nightmare broke, the old terror washing over her. Hoping she hadn’t screamed out loud and disturbed anyone else in the hotel, she let her face sink into her hands and waited for the nausea to subside.

The memories clashed and bled together in her thoughts, but not all of them were horrid – that, of course, made it worse. How many times had Cable and Beast told her to name her fear in order to render it powerless?

“Sabretooth,” she whispered, shivering as if saying the name could conjure the psychopath. “You bastard – it never works on you.”

For a time, she had dared to call Victor Creed a friend, but that had been a silly fantasy, pointed out often by her peers and superiors alike. Wolverine had lobotomized the feral mutant with a claw when he escaped his cage, and the childlike innocence that had followed had only been the holding pattern his mind had taken up while his healing factor worked to repair his brain.

Tabitha had been drawn to him for many reasons; first and foremost, was her belief in the possibility of redemption. If a monster like Sabretooth could change, why couldn’t someone else; someone like her drunken abusive father, or even herself?

At the same time, Sam had joined the X-Men. She had been so proud, until she realized his ambition to fight with the dream team would slowly tear them apart. The first time she had snuck into the Danger Room to visit Creed had been the morning Sam had turned her away, not even caring that she had arranged to have the whole day to spend with him after a long absence already.

That morning, Creed had been like a kitten. It seemed insane now and her stomach twisted again at the recollection of all the warnings she had ignored, once the others began to figure out what she was doing.

 _Wasn’t any harm at first, I know it,_ she thought.  _Pure kitten, wouldn’t hurt a butterfly – so I brought him a bowl of milk that night._ Guilt seeped in and shamed her. How long had it been before she touched him?  _The hair on the man, like a blonde pelt, almost; I wanted to know if it was soft._  Tears rose.  _It was._

In the time that followed, for three weeks, she brought him milk every night after everyone else went to bed. At first, he hadn’t been able to speak and didn’t seem to know who or what he was. She’d liked him better then. She had spilled her secrets to him, her fears, her past, her self-hatred.

As Sam grew more busy and was gone longer and longer, ignoring her or brushing her off when he did see her, her loneliness had driven her to things she had never admitted to anyone.

Biting her lip, Tabitha let the tears fall. “It’s not like he was a kid; the man was massive and pretty damn all-grown-up. Why’d they dress him in those obscene black cycle shorts, anyway? Not my fault, is it? Hell, maybe one of the other gals liked him in them, too, picked them out for him?”

The lie burned her eyes. He couldn’t talk, so he couldn’t tell, and it was obvious he hadn’t understood what she was doing, even when his body reacted to her tentative curious caresses.

_It was huge, curving under the shorts like that. All of him, the muscles, the … bigger than Sam. Maybe better, too. God, I was such an idiot... Then Wolverine showed up in my bedroom after that, to ‘warn’ me_ _, told me I had ‘Creed’s smell on me’. Did he know what I did? Couldn’t have. He could smell who I touched, not what_ _– and who touched me._

Creed had rolled into her when she stoked his back, while he’d been lapping up the milk. He’d purred and rubbed against her, his expressive pointed ears twitching, and she’d nearly...

“Stop torturing yourself, dummy. You didn’t, and he couldn’t have, could he? He didn’t know what end was what then.” Drawing in a deep breath, she let it out slowly. “Then he started talking. Oh, lord, that threw me, but he didn’t seem to remember anything beyond the visits, the milk.”

He’d asked her to change the holographic cage from a jungle scene to the grounds outside of the mansion. After a few bad tries, she’d gotten it. When she went back in, he’d offered his hand and invited her to go for a walk. All thoughts of inappropriate touching had died then.

_It was too creepy, having him walk and talk like a man. So tall, I could barely reach his shoulder – just never noticed it while he was keeping to all-fours and lying around in the ‘sun’. That was the real moment when I got addicted though, wasn’t it – having someone talk to me, having him want me around, be pleased to see me. No one else..._

Holding that hand in her memory, feeling the long, thick fingers laced with hers, the deadly claws retracted, she knew she was safe. She had been happy again, too, for such a short time. Then her teammates, her boyfriend, and finally Professor Xavier had sprung their “intervention”. They’d changed her access code for the Danger Room control booth, locking her out to keep her away from the only person who understood how alone, how desolate she was.

“I never got to walk with him again.” Holding herself tightly, she shuddered. “Got to talk to him again, though, didn’t I? Why the hell didn’t Betsy pull me out of there the minute she saw me go in?”

Professor Xavier had admitted defeat and he was about to turn the fully healed and rabid, mocking monster over to the authorities. Betsy Braddock, the telepathic ninja warrior Psylocke, had been watching in the control booth after the professor left.

Creed, trapped in a metal chair-like contraption that encased his legs from below the knees, his arms below the elbows, had been immobile. Other bands of metal had held his elbows, shoulders, and chest – even his face. Only his insane laugher was free to ring out in the Danger Room.

Betsy had known, hadn’t she? That she needed to face him. She probably didn’t know how easily he could goad her. Yet Betsy had told her telepathically to leave; Tabitha had blown her off, insisting she could handle herself, and him.

“He called me a failure, called me ‘white trash’, a loser – like him. He spoke about my dad, being a drunk, he knew … because I told him. That means he’d remembered everything I ever said to him while I thought he was...”

His cruel taunting had pushed her to attack him and as her trio of time bombs exploded into his face and chest, they had destroyed the chair, the restraints, and the bands of metal that restricted his fangs. He’d erupted out of the wreckage, hair and skin on fire, and launched at her. Thrown to the floor by the blast, her power momentarily depleted, she’d been helpless.

 _He’d have torn my face off if Betsy … if she hadn’t..._  Flashing across her thoughts was the large hand she had held.  _It was the same! It was the same, when he … when he slashed..._

Tabitha launched off of the bed, her hand clamped over her mouth, and ran for the bathroom. When the sickness subsided, her throat raw from dry heaving, she ran a shaking hand through sweaty curls. Her other hand wiped at her lips and she hissed when she realized she’d bruised her knees falling in front of the toilet.

“Stop thinking about it, you stupid wretch; that was a long time ago. Clean up, go out – you have a job to do.”

Her second shower was hotter and it felt good on cramping muscles. She tilted her face up into the spray and let it hide her fresh tears, let it wash them away.

~ ~ ~

“Oh honey, I don’t think you should go around asking about Fisk. He doesn’t come into Faro much, anyway. His servants do, mostly for supplies, but that’s about it.”

Tabitha sipped her Dr. Pepper and smiled at the kind old woman behind the counter at the small diner. “Not going to go looking for him,” she lied, smooth as butter. “I’m just curious about him, after some of the wild stories my buddy Phil told me. Besides, I have some serious fun to chase up here, no time for much else.”

“Well, yes. For supplies, go see Debbie at the general store, then Eddy can rent you the snowmobile and camping gear. There’ll be other tourists around where Eddy’s building is, so you can ask someone to go out there with you; it’s not safe alone in those mountains. There’re bears, wolves, and worse.”

 _Lions, and tigers, and bears – oh my!_  “Got it.”

She paid for her meager breakfast, having mostly eaten the mound of toast that came with it, and headed off to see Debbie and Eddy. Soon enough, she had everything rented, gathered, repacked, and tucked away.

For the sake of “safety first” everyone lectured about, she had told Margie, the woman at her hotel, that she’d be back after a week or so of camping. It stung a bit to lie to every resident of Faro that she met; they were all so friendly and kind. Sighing, she left Eddy’s rental shop and climbed up onto the snowmobile.

Grateful for everything that Cable, the X-Men, and eventually Pete Wisdom had ever taught her, she started the machine up with ease. The few other tourists at the shop were easy to ditch – they were all families. Tabitha waved to them before driving off out of town and onto the marked trails that surrounded the Tintina Valley. She let out a whoop of excitement that was more than just for pseudo-tourist appearances – the day was gorgeous if freezing, and snowmobiling was anything but boring. It almost made her forget to hate snow.

As she struck out to the northeast, heading for the North Canol Road, she thought about the locals’ opinion of her mark. None of them knew much about Fisk, but what they suspected didn’t make them like the man. They admitted to liking his pair of French servants well enough, an older and a younger man. Apparently, the Frenchmen were house-sitting year round, but their boss was only there once or twice a year and never for very long.

_Maybe Goshana will be there even if he isn’t? That’d be convenient as all hell. Couple of French dudes I can handle, no problem. No one in town has seen a child, girl, or woman with the servants, though. Guess that makes sense – if she’s Fisk’s captive, they wouldn’t bring her along on a grocery run. Question is, do they know about her at all, and if so, are they in cahoots with their boss enough to fight me for her?_

Her mission packet had already told her what the locals had offered reluctantly – Fisk owned an obscene mansion with a lot of estate land fenced in, the whole of it nestled at the base of the Selwyn Mountains, the next range over. According to her information on the mansion, it was actually built into the mountains, maybe even partially carved into the rock.

_Well, that’ll narrow it down, anyway_ _– hard to end up at the neighbor’s by mistake._

Apparently, she could avoid the rivers and make serious time by borrowing the North Canol Road, which was officially closed in winter. Once she left the road, all she had to do was double back southwest a bit and start looking for the estate in the mountains, somewhere between the branches of the Hess and MacMillan Rivers.

Rothenberg had not provided much detail on any home defenses Fisk might have in place. She’d pried out of Phil the fact that no one knew much about her mark at all, including Rothenberg himself. The man had broken into the estate in Seattle, stolen Goshana and escaped – almost without anyone knowing.

Tabitha got onto the snowy hump of the road once she finally found it and then travelled along its winding way as fast as she could manage without ditching. That leg of the trip took the most time, but without the road, it would have taken forever. She tried not to let her mind wander, either; they hadn’t closed the road due to it being safe to travel on in winter.

~ ~ ~

It was getting close to nightfall by the time she left the road and started looping back to the southwest. The mountain trails were more like animal tracks this far out from Faro. Tabitha had hung her binoculars around her neck and stopped often, the better to spot any sign of Fisk’s place in the mountain range around her.

_Maybe I need to be a little more to the northwest? Where’s the damn branch of the Hess?_

Dusk was settling around her before she spotted the gray column of smoke twining up out of the thick forest, to the northwest, as she had suspected. Stopping the snowmobile, she picked up the binoculars again.

_Gotcha. Wow, that’s a swanky setup for lumberjack sheik._

The binoculars helped her pick out quite a few windows, chimneys, and even balconies dotting the mountainside over and around the part of the structures that actually looked like a house.

Not far out in front, a snowed-in road led to a massive stone and cast iron gate. The other end of it probably connected to the North Canol Road somewhere and she grinned to think that she might have driven up to the gate and rung the bell if she could have found the turnoff.

In the distance, she finally picked out the branch of the Hess River she’d been hunting for. The MacMillan branch was out of sight in the other direction, but it had to be there.

Swinging back to the monstrous house, she studied what little she could see of it among the trees. The fences were cast iron too, sporting a lot of razor spikes in between thick stone posts. At any point she could see, it had to be over ten feet tall. The whole fence line couldn’t be seen, as it curved out around the front of the mansion and into the forest on both sides.

_Now, that looks like an über Bond villain pad if ever I saw one. Crap. Wish I knew what lethal goodies are rigged up to deter unwanted guests! Can’t monkey with it now, though; got to set up camp before it’s all the way dark. I’ll work on getting into those woods over there tomorrow night after a good rest; then I can try sneaking in the back way._

Dropping the binoculars to her chest, she drove a little farther into the trees and found a space big enough for a tent and a fire pit. The work of setting up camp almost had her sweating in the heavy arctic clothing, but the minute she sat down on the fallen tree she’d put her fire next to, the freezing air worked its way back into her lungs and bones. 

Spooning canned beef stew out of her cooking pot, she shivered and stomped her boots in the snow. 

“Too bad I can’t explode a bomb just to warm up my feet. I am not looking forward to needing to pee again.” She spoke aloud just to hear a human voice. The wind and forest sounds vied with a creepy utter silence, the two trading off attempts to drive her crazy. “Got to head for California the second I get paid. Maybe L.A., check out Hollywood – anything but San Francisco.”

Memories of her time there with the remnants of X-Force, and once again with Sam, came flooding in. Yet thinking about their training and later adventures with the English black-ops mutant, Pete Wisdom, only made her feel more alone.

“Thanks to Pete, though, I’m a pretty damn dangerous girl these days. The time bombs can be round or spikes and I can control them a hell of a lot better, too. Add up the rest: martial arts, computer hacking, and a bunch of other black-ops spy crap, and maybe Mr. Dangerous Fisk should be running from me.”

Try as she might, she couldn’t stop herself from thinking about Sam. Over the years, when he had left her, with or without breaking up first, she had ended up with others. Her track record of shacking up with teammates had almost become a joke.

“If Sam hadn’t been there, I might have ended up with Pete; he had that girl-melting broody bad boy vibe working pretty hard. Aw, who am I kidding? I’m a perfect match for the bad boy type, but that just makes me go for the clean-cut good boy type.” Sighing, she bit her lip and let the spoon clank into the empty pot. “Sam is the sort of guy the girl I want to be should end up with. Figures, I didn’t end up with him. Maybe I should quit trying to reach over my head and just canoodle with a good old bad boy? They have certain advantages, especially in bed.”

With a derisive snort, she got up and started cleaning up the cooking equipment. She put out the fire, since she didn’t want it to draw too much attention while she wasn’t on watch. For morning coffee, she could just make another baby bomb and set more tinder on fire.

Slipping into the trees for another frozen pee, she almost ran into her tent and zipped it up against the cold. Her life saved by the metal heat lamp screwed onto a propane bottle that Eddy had suggested, she bedded down in her sleeping bag and blanket in all of her clothes, even the boots. The only clothing she removed was the puffy jacket, since it wouldn’t have let her move in the sleeping bag.

Briefly, the inspiration to play with herself bounced around in her head, but the thought of frozen fingers down her pants killed it. Keeping the gloves on, she tried to fall asleep while listening to the wind.

Soon enough, she huffed and sat up, digging in the front pocket of her duffel bag. “Who am I kidding? Nature Girl, I’m not.” Fishing out her iPod, she pushed the earpieces into her ears and dialed up her favorite playlist to chill out to. She didn’t bother looking at her cell phone – no one called it anymore.

~ ~ ~

Once, when she had to get up in the middle of the night to pee again, she grabbed the binoculars and walked off to the edge of the slope where she had checked out Fisk’s mansion before. There were a few lights shining through the trees, but they all seemed to be concentrated at the center of the main structures.

“I wonder what she’s doing – if she’s okay.” Her heart squeezed in sympathy for the unknown girl she’d been sent to rescue. “I’m not a complete moron, either – Rothenberg’s no saint. When I get you out of there, Goshana, I’ll ask you where you want to go. We can always show up in Seattle, get my money and then blast our way back out. Next stop, Disneyland! Unless you like that arrogant toad; then fine, drop you off, get paid, and walk on.” Frowning at her puffing white breath, she added, “Destination: bikini weather.”

She went back into the trees, found a spot to squat and freeze, and bolted back to the warm tent again with the binoculars bouncing on their strap against her chest. Ditching the binoculars and jacket on top of the duffel bag and pushing Christina Aguilera back into her ears, she slowly drifted off to sleep.

~ ~ ~

Tabitha broke camp the next afternoon, covering the fire pit with snow and trying to make her campsite less obvious. Driving a bit deeper into the trees and closer to the estate house, she started looking for a good spot to stash the snowmobile.

She almost wished she’d spent as much time with Wolverine as her friend Jubilee had – the crash course in living in the wild might have been handy.  _I’d have had to put up with Wolvie, though, so maybe not. I’m doing all right … not too shabby._

She often told herself she didn’t dislike Wolverine – she just didn’t appreciate his thorny my-way-or-the-highway attitude, especially when he had an opinion on how she should run her life. She gulped at the memory that his last opinion, about Sabretooth, had been right on the money.

“Oh shut up,” she said, berating the circling thoughts. “They were right, I was wrong, ancient history. Paid my dues, man.”  _Paid with someone else’s blood..._

When she stopped and got off of the snowmobile, she glared at a thin tree branch in the snow at her feet and stomped on it, relishing the snap under her boot.

 _I’ll never make up for that, but I’ve saved a lot of lives since, and damn it, that ought to balance the scales a little bit. Hell, I’m about to save another life on this miserable jaunt – playing the hero game as well as I can on my own, even if I’m getting paid for it now._ Frowning, she added,  _Or I will be, someday._

Tabitha didn’t set up camp again. At mealtimes, she fished some food out that she wouldn’t need to cook. Waiting for nightfall so she could get started, she worked at cutting some brush to lay over and around her snowmobile. Then she suited up with what she thought she might need for a stealthy raid and packed away the rest before covering the vehicle.

Getting the lay of the land around her with the last of the daylight, she worked her way northwest through the trees. Once night fell, it was hard to keep her direction straight. She could barely see her hand in front of her face and she was afraid she’d find the fence by smacking into it before she saw it. A flashlight waited in an inner pocket of her jacket, but she didn’t dare use it this close to the enemy.

Twisting with a start, she looked behind her and tried to find the source of the noise she’d heard, unsure if it was wind and branches, or something worse.

_Was that a scraping? Maybe it’s a deer, crunching in the snow... Yeah, and maybe it’s Frankenstein’s monster creeping up to chew on your spine. Focus, Tab_ _– get in, grab, get out._

She took another step forward and screamed as a beam of red light fired and burned a hole through the sleeve of her jacket, an inch below the elbow.

“Holy shit!”  _Was that a laser? Get a grip, Tab, you knew this place would be loaded for bear._ She stood still for several breathes, expecting to be fired at again when she moved, but one tentative step after another was rewarded with silence and no hostile action.  _Automated systems? Got to be motion sensors triggering the laser shots. So why isn’t it keeping it up?_

She stiffened and stopped again when something large and wide appeared in the gloom across her path, slanting upward. It took her a few moments and a couple more careful advancing steps to recognize the estate’s cast iron fence.

_Really don’t want to scale that in the pitch dark. Hundred thousand, hundred thousand, hundred thousand – it’ll be worth it. Think of Goshana: scared, needing help … my help. Okay_ _, here I go._

She reached for the coil of rope on her belt, but before she could take it off of its catch, she was struck from behind by something big. Shouting in fear and outrage, she formed one fireball of plasma energy per palm and launched them behind her, but in the same instant, she was launched herself – up and right over the ten foot fence.

Barely clearing the spikes at the top, she landed hard in a heap, on her face in the snow. Whatever had picked her up and thrown her was on her back before she could rise, knocking the wind out of her a second time. Her bombs exploded harmlessly in the air in the place where her assailant had been when she was struck.

It moved off of her and then another came at her from her right. Her mind snapped into focus in an instant, forming and throwing the balls of plasma as fast as she could. Her attackers seemed to come in from all sides, darting forward and back to avoid her bombs, and they were moving too quickly to be seen in the light of the explosions.

_Going to exhaust that option quick at this rate. Can I hit these things? What the hell are they?_

She took a martial arts stance and tried to aim a hook kick at one of the creatures. Shocked when her boot actually connected with something furry, she stepped out and prepared to strike again.

A low growl sounded right at her ear and she whirled, but before she could get her boot around, the massive thing rose up and something heavy smashed onto the top of her head, tumbling her into blackness.

~ ~ ~

A splitting headache woke her, but for a moment, Tabitha wasn’t sure she was awake; the scene around her looked more like one of her nightmares, or a first-person shooter video game.

Something constricting her throat made her cough. When her fingers lifted and touched a metal collar, she glared at the stone walls and metal door of her cage.

_Okay, what gives? Did I get captured by a gamer convention with a rich backer, or what? This is really ‘Dungeons and Dragons’ in overdrive._

The next thing she noticed was that all of her gear was gone and most of her warm clothes, which explained why she was freezing worse than ever. Dressed in nothing but a t-shirt, jeans, and her boots, she shuddered, cursing the cold.

A quick bit of plasma energy in the form of a sliver took care of the collar. The metal ring and chain fell to the stone floor with a loud clank. Some sort of light source beyond the door, possibly torchlight, showed her surroundings dimly.

 _The floor, walls, ceiling – they’re rough-hewn rock, not blocks like a castle. I’m inside the mountain. Is Goshana being held down here, too?_ “Hey, can anyone hear me? Goshana?”

Only silence answered her. Tabitha created another bomb the size of a golf ball as she struggled to her feet. Going to the metal door, she stood on tiptoes to try and look through the small barred window hole.

A line of torches in wall brackets marched down a narrow long chamber into darkness. She thought there was another cell door next to hers, but she couldn’t see far in that direction. The other way sported another metal door, and through its window, she could see stone steps leading up.

 _Up is usually the best way to go in the shooter games when you land in a dungeon, so up it is. I’ll find someone I can intimidate and make them take me to Goshana. Then we’re out of here._  “One, two, three!”

On her count of three, the small bomb floating over her palm shot into the lock of her door and blew the entire rectangular slab of it off of its hinges.

_Wow, feeling a bit depleted. Must not have been out cold too long after I got jumped. I’ll have to be a bit conservative, then – save them for special occasions._

Stepping through the cell door, she froze at the sound of a dark and cruel chuckle. When the low, rasping voice spoke, saying her name like it was tasting it, she couldn’t stop the shake that weakened her limbs and churned in her gut.

“Hiya, Tabitha. Mmm… I’ve missed ya, frail – been a long time.”

She refused to turn, knowing the dark corner where the torches stopped would turn into her nightmare made real if she looked at it. Without a thought, she bolted forward, tossing another small bomb at the outer door. Her hands struck the metal as it fell, her boots slamming it over to skid down the steps. Jumping to clear it, she began to run.

Noises behind her, a growl and then a roar, spurred her on. Flying up the stairs, she saw nothing of the stone chamber she entered. Racing across the open space, she tripped on something thick and heavy on the floor. She shouted when she fell, expecting to land on stone, waiting to feel the claws in her back – but instead she fell and kept falling, until she crashed at the bottom of a deep narrow shaft.

Gasping, trying to get away from sharp and hard things that had nearly impaled her, she jerked her head up to look at the lip of the hole she’d fallen into.

A black silhouette waited there, limned by fluttering yellow torchlight. It was huge, and twin amber lights glowed in its face, watching her.

“Oops – guess I forgot t’ put tha cover back on that.”

Terror stole her breath. Forming a large bomb and floating it over her head, she panted and coughed.

“Might wanna save yer energy, girl. Ya can fry me ‘til ya burn out, but I’ll just heal an’ come get ya anyway.”

Coughing again, she tried to speak, the bomb tightly controlled and waiting. “He … he hired you… Fisk?”

The shadow laughed, a loud and mocking noise that echoed crazily. “Fisk hired me – oh, that’s rich; I like it.”

Swallowing hard, Tabitha answered, “I demand to talk to him!”

“Ya are talkin’ t’ ‘im; he’s me.”

“What? That can’t –”

“Who sent ya, frail? Rothenberg? Heh. It just gets better an’ better. What’d he do, ship ya out here t’ take back what’s ‘is?”

“I’m here for Goshana. If you’ve killed her, you monster, I’ll –”

“Do tell. Have ya noticed where ya are? Use tha fireball an’ look.”

Dropping her eyes only a fraction, afraid to take them off of him, she soon swept her gaze around her in horror.

Bones, skulls, and worse – heads, torsos, limbs: the shaft was filled with bodies, all in varying stages of decomposition. She clamped down on the scream building at the back of her throat and looked down. There was no floor that she could see – she was sprawled on the skeletons and rotting corpses of his victims, with no way to tell how far down the pile went below her.

“Aw, yeah, there it is – tha smell o’ terrified female; ain’t nothin’ sweeter, ‘cept maybe ‘er blood on my claws.”

“Let me out of here!”

“Ya wanna come up here with me? Sure we could find somethin’ t’ do, huh? I know – ya can tell me all ‘bout tha horrors o’ growin’ up with a drunken fuck o’ a father. Wanna braid my hair an’ make cookies, too? Need somethin’ t’ go with our milk, don’t we?”

Tabitha turned her head to the wall of the stone shaft, her hands fisting as her tears began to fall. “I can’t, I can’t, oh, God, please...”

A loud clunk of metal made her look up, her eyes wide. He had pushed a massive round object next to the lip of the hole; it was what she had tripped on. Belatedly, she realized it was a cover.

“Guess ya don’t wanna play with ol’ Uncle Victor just yet. Bet ya wouldn’t be happy goin’ back t’ yer cell neither, so ya may as well stay in tha oubliette fer a bit.” With a hideous scraping noise, he began to push the cover over the opening. “Tell ya what, frail – ya want outta that hole, just holler. I’ll hear ya … eventually.”

She couldn’t move, her fear rooting her in place. Tears streamed down her face as she watched the cover shift, watched it block out the torchlight. When it crunched into place, it sounded as if no noise or hint of the outside world could get through it – until she distinctly heard his cruel laughter, echoing and quieting as he retreated away from the shaft.

Tabitha remained silent, listening to her rapid heartbeat. Then she drew in a deep breath and let her scream split the air in the stone shaft. The bomb grew bigger before it shot upward and burst against the metal cover.

She snapped her eyes shut as dry stone dust rained down. When she could risk a look, only blackness waited over her head – the cover hadn’t moved.

Shifting, trying to stand, her boot crunched through the dome of a skull. Falling back into the piled corpses, she moaned. Desperate, she tried to form another bomb, but nothing happened. The fight in the snow had drained her and now she would have to wait for her mutant power to recover.

 _While sitting in the dark – on dead people_ _– with him waiting above._  She almost choked on the stench thickening around her.  _Sabretooth … he’s here and he’s got me. He’s Fisk? Oh God_ _, I’ve been set up_ _– and this time I’m probably going to die … for real._

*****************************************************************

Victor’s claws clacked on the polished wooden floor of the entrance hall as restless energy drove him to pace. Arms crossed over his bare chest, he stared down at the gleaming metal claws on his toes.

He had dressed in nothing more than a worn pair of jeans and a choker necklace of small finger bones and teeth that lay close to the base of his throat.

Glancing up, he narrowed his eyes at the bright chandelier hanging in the space over the grand staircase. It was made of antlers from many animals and rigged to be raised and lowered by its cable on a winch. The candles, hundreds of them, dripped wax into the curved glass plate beneath it, the various colors making a mad modern art smear.

The house had never been rigged with electricity for lighting or heat. The cost of such an endeavor would have been pointless. Candles, torches, and fireplaces did the trick just fine. What little electrical work he’d had done since buying the place had been aimed at running the security systems and the equipment and luxuries in a few select rooms. All of that was powered by giant generators farther back in the mountain.

Sounds overhead turned his attention to the top of the stairs. His servants were coming back down.

“The room is ready, sir,” Brys announced. “Will you be bringing the young lady up directly?”

Victor smirked, but shook his head. “I’d bet good money she’s gonna fight too much t’ make it all that direct. Where’d ya set it up?”

“In the smaller suite at the end of the hall from yours, sir, though the windows are not barred.”

“Won’t matter. She can blast ‘er way outta most cages. Trick is makin’ ‘er not want t’ do it.”

The dubious look on the cook’s face almost made Victor frown. Perrin interjected his own two bits at that point, probably to stop his beau from annoying their boss.

“If Rothenberg sent her, then she might be swayed by money.”

“Maybe. Got some history with this skirt, though – oughta make it challengin’, t’ say tha least.”

“Sir, she’s been without food or water for almost two days. Perhaps she –”

“That’s part o’ tha plan, Brys. Make a need an’ then fill it – didn’t ya ever serve in tha military or do a turn in prison?”

“No, sir.”

“Well, hell, a bloody saint’s among us. Ya don’t mind fuckin’ a saint, boy?”

“Haven’t minded yet. Angels and devils have entirely different skills to offer.”

“Ain’t that tha fuckin’ truth. Get scarce, both o’ ya. I’ll make nice an’ introduce ya once I know if she’ll play ball. Cat’s still out?”

“Yes, sir.”

Victor nodded and walked off, heading for the basement level stairs underneath the grand staircase. The door was hidden in the stone wall. Tripping the catch, he watched the section of stone slide into the wall to reveal a thick wooden door.

As soon as he opened the inner door, the humans could hear her screaming for help. Glancing over his shoulder, he snorted when he saw Brys’s face go pale as his bedmate was ushering him through a side door into the servant’s wing of the house. Catching Perrin’s eye, Victor grinned when the boy tossed him a wink.

_Gonna hafta let tha boy torture somebody fer me one o’ these days_ _, bet he’d be a natural._

Reaching the ten-inch thick and three-foot diameter metal cover over the oubliette, he dropped down on one knee to shove it out of the way, his long hair swinging forward over his chest.

She had gone quiet the moment the metal scraped on stone. Looking down at her, Victor grinned again.

“Ya wanted somethin’, frail?”

The blonde slip of a girl had managed to shift a few of the bodies, for a purpose he couldn’t begin to guess at. It must have been hard for her – the stink of old vomit was present in more than one place beneath the sharp stench of the dead.

“You left me here to suffocate and starve! Get me out of here!”

“There’s air holes, ya know – in tha rock over yer head. Whole point o’ an oubliette’s t’ make it take a while fer people t’ die in it. Plus, thirst would get ya before hunger. Starvin’ takes longer. Got quite a bit o’ meat in there, though – some o’ it’s still fresh enough, ‘specially with how cold it is down here. Trick’s knowin’ what’s tainted an’ what ain’t. Gotta watch tha ones where tha gut’s been pierced – spoils tha meat.”

He’d kept talking until she looked like she might try to be sick again and then grinned. When he sat and put his feet over the edge, using his claws on hands and feet to begin scaling down the wall of the shaft, she gasped. She put stone at her back as he continued down, her feet stumbling in bones and bodies.

“What are you doing?”

“Gettin’ ya out. Ain’t no game o’ chutes an’ ladders – we’ve only got tha chutes here.”

Wickedly aware of what it meant for her, he stretched out his long arm and held his hand out to her, the claws on it pulling back slowly, until they fully retracted without a sound.

For a moment, he wondered if she really would get sick again, though she couldn’t have had anything left to throw up. Her face a mask of terror, she pressed herself against the stone as if she was thinking about trying to dig through it.

“Won’t hurt ya, girl – least not if ya don’t try t’ burn me. Ya want outta tha hole or not?”

“You just want me up there where you’ll have more room to stretch my guts out good and long.”

“Hmmm... Don’t think that’d work, tell ya tha truth. Chamber ain’t big enough. Guts’re longer’n ya’d think.”

He watched hungrily as desperation warred with fear on her delicate heart-shaped face. Her blue eyes were huge and bright with tears. The scent of her, with flecks and smears of rotting flesh and dust of stone and bones clinging to her clothes and hair made his cock twitch and start to swell. The blood crashing through her veins and the trapped prey heartbeat were loud in his ears.

“You like to hunt – give me a running start, a fighting chance?”

“Sure – fer ol’ time’s sake.” He shifted and turned his body slightly to hide the growing erection in the shadows.  _No point in tippin’ my hand too soon._  “Ain’t gonna hang here all day like a fuckin’ bat, frail.”

She gulped and shook when she moved away from the stone. Unsteady boots trying not to trip on the uneven footing, she lifted her small hand up. The tears that had been wetting her eyes spilled down the moment he grabbed her wrist.

Hauling her up by it a bit too fast, surprised by how little she weighed, he used the momentum to toss her up like a ragdoll and wrap his arm around her tiny waist instead. The soft hopeless trapped sounds she made under her breath clawed at his belly, cresting his lust.

His claws punched little holes in the wall of the shaft as he climbed back up, the movement more jerky one-handed. Once he could get his hand over the lip, he pulled himself up by brute strength. The weight of his captive barely registered.

Landing in a predatory crouch, he opened his arm’s grip and let the girl tumble across the stone. The doors to the stairs and the entrance hall were open.

She began to move, trying to make her limbs obey her, to make them allow her to stand. Victor knew she’d had enough time for her mutant power to recover, but figured she wouldn’t risk it. Muscles twitching in anticipation, he waited for her to make a move for the door.

He growled when she managed to surprise him – launching a bomb right at his face instead of immediately trying to run. He avoided the blast by leaping back down the oubliette, his claws cutting furrows in the stone until he could dig in and stop the slide. Pulling against that grip, he pushed off of the shaft with his legs and jumped up in time to see her fleeing up the stairs.

Roaring in anger and heat, he bounded after her, reveling in the scream when his claws snagged her boot and made her fall. In a heartbeat, he was on her, claws cutting her wrist when he grabbed it, fingers nearly crushing the bones.

The smell of her blood as it dripped over his fingers and the spike of her fear pushed his mind over the edge into red. Vague plans melted away and when they were forgotten, his claws went to work.

Using the weight of his chest to pin her to the rough stone steps, he shredded the cotton material she wore into strips. Her cries and curses heightened his pleasure, tightening his lust. He almost couldn’t free himself without destroying his own clothes, one claw tip scratching his cock as he jerked it out.

Pressing the head of it against her torn white panties inside the ruined denim, Victor laid his full weight onto her slender body from behind. Her soft, shaved skin was hot against his tip and he sucked in his breath as the tight opening began to push his foreskin back. He bent his head down, his tongue slipping out to lick a salty tear from a high bruised cheekbone.

Victor felt the shift when her hands tried to move from under her face, and smelled the weird essence of her power collecting, just before the plasma bombs would form. Memory of burning pain twisted in his mind, in his gut, and the shredded plans were remembered, piercing the heat of lust.

Moving his entire body with a fluid grace that belied his bulk, he jumped over her and landed on the top steps. In the light of a quickly growing bomb, he put his jeans back together and hauled the abused buttonfly fastened again. Resting his elbows on his knees, letting his hands hang, he retracted all of his claws at once.

The frail was panting, delicious terror cresting. He half expected her to throw the bomb anyway, but when it stopped growing and began to reduce in size, he let a smirk tug lightly at one corner of his mouth.

“Seems I’ve remembered my manners. Truce, frail – put that somewhere else an’ I’ll take ya upstairs, get ya water an’ somethin’ t’ eat. Deal?”

She glared up at him until her eyes turned glazed. He watched, fascinated, as the plasma withdrew back into her palm, disappearing entirely.

“Didn’t know ya could suck ‘em back up,” he told her. Then he grinned. The haunted eyes had closed and a breath later, the slip of a thing had passed out.

She hadn’t lost much weight during her stint in the hole, but she was thinner than she’d been when he’d last seen her. Carrying her up quite a few stairs to the third floor guest suite was like hauling a feather.

It didn’t take her long to wake up out of her faint, or to stiffen and then struggle when she found herself in his arms. The door was still open, but he decided to put her back on her own feet anyway.

Instantly, she tried to attack him, but she had poor timing. The snow leopard had returned from hunting and slunk into the room behind him. When Tabitha screamed and struck out at his chest with her small fists, the cat growled and swiped at her around his leg, powerful hooked claws ripping through denim to scratch bloody tracks across her thigh.

The girl backed away and nearly fell. Victor came forward and scooped her up again, dropping her down onto the bed. Before she could make any more bombs, he struck her across the temple with a fist – just hard enough to knock her out.

Ignoring the hissing gibber behind him, he sat beside the girl to inspect the cuts, both his and the cat’s. They were scratches, not too deep or serious.

Keeping his claws in, he gripped her shoulder and lifted her up to strip off the t-shirt he’d opened at the back. His claw had severed her bra too, and it hung loosely from her shoulders. Pinching the central strap between the cups in his fingertips, he tore it from her when he let her body fall back.

The breasts moved invitingly before they settled. The perfect spheres were not quite as heavy as some, but they weren’t the breasts of a girl in a uniform anymore, either. A tempting distraction bloomed in his head, but he curbed it. To avoid it further, he didn’t linger in looking at the bruises on her ribs and legs either, where he’d pressed her down into the dungeon stairs.

Unlacing the boots and yanking them off, he tossed them across the room near the open bathroom door. Her jeans were easy to remove – there wasn’t much left of them, or of the panties. Socks soon followed the boots. Getting up to fetch a washcloth from the bathroom, he brought it back damp and wiped the blood away from her thigh and wrist, resisting the urge to lick it off of her smooth, lightly tanned skin.

Returning to the bathroom, he tossed the washcloth in the sink and pulled the light green bathrobe off the edge of the tall clawfoot tub. It was clean, though the faint scent of the boy lingered on the sash.

Holding it in one hand, he paused when he stood looking down at her nude and unconscious form. His undisciplined body was still eager to take advantage of the situation, but that was no way to make a plan go smoothly. He almost sat again, just to sniff at her sex, maybe taste it – but he knew it wouldn’t stop there if he got started.

Staying on his feet, he laid the robe out beside her, rolled her into it and pulled her arms through the sleeves. He had to pick her up again to lay her out properly on her back. Giving the vulnerable flesh one last long look, he wrapped the edges of the robe around it and tied the sash.

Moving to a large wingchair in the corner, he stretched his legs out, the toes flexing, and settled in to wait. One hand shifted his unsatisfied cock through the denim and gave it more room to give up and relax.

His guest crept up to him, her warm breath huffing on his dangling fingers. His hand stroked her fur idly, mostly to calm her.

Victor heard it when the frail woke, but didn’t look up. One sniff from her and he knew she could smell the covered food on the silver serving tray on the table. His nose was distracted by the leaking fear scent as she noticed that she’d been wrapped naked into a bathrobe.

To stop any silly posturing speech she had in mind, he broke the silence first. “Food’s fer ya, got mine already. There’s water, too.”

“What... Why are you doing this?”

“Doin’ what?”

“Not gutting me. Not … doing that to me, what you did before.”

“Almost did, ya mean. I’m pretty impressed with my restraint, frail – don’t bother t’ quit often.”

“Don’t call me ‘frail’.”

“From where I’m sittin’ yer pretty fuckin’ frail … Tabitha.”

Her arms moved and she pushed herself to sit up. She drew her legs up and under the robe, her hands tucking the terrycloth around her quickly and securely before her arms circled her knees and held them.

“You didn’t answer my question.”

“Not gonna, neither – not ‘til ya eat.”

“Why do you care if I eat?”

“Damn fuckin’ naggin’ dirty cunts!”

He stood so fast, ears pinning back and claws snapping out, that the snow leopard hissed in surprise. His hackles rose a moment before the cat’s.

The girl’s entire body tensed, but her hands were already buzzing, ready to make explosives to defend herself. Victor tried to breathe more deeply to calm his anger, to make the hairs on his body smooth down. He retracted his claws, his hands curling into fists. Letting the last breath go slowly, he answered her in as even a voice as he could manage.

“I care, cuz I’m tha one that decided t’ starve ya out fer a bit. Mostly, so ya’d lemme pluck ya outta tha damn pit. Gotta reason fer doin’ that, too, a fine one in fact, an’ it’s got jack t’do with guttin’ or fuckin’ ya. Now if I leave ya be a while, will ya eat? Weak an’ shivery ain’t gonna be any good t’ me.”

Bold as brass, she asked, “Did you poison it?”

The question stumped him; in the next breath, it amused him, leaking away his anger. “Why would I poison anybody? Rather rip ‘em, wouldn’t I? Eat. I’ll be back later, an’ maybe we can talk civil; talk business, too – if ya learn t’ curb yer damn female tongue just a hair.”

She got his hopes up by remaining silent as he stalked to the door. The cat shot out of it first past his legs. Without giving the girl a backward glance, he shut and locked the door.

Leaning against it, he waited, listening. She stirred, got up and approached the tray on the table without even coming over to rattle the knob or send a baby bomb through the lock. Odds were, she’d guessed he was standing right there.

A clink of silver sounded as she lifted and set aside the domed cover. He heard the small intake of breath that gave voice to her pain seconds before she screamed in outrage. The door was struck by something heavy that instantly shattered, a thick liquid splashing. On cue, she’d picked up the cut crystal bowl of milk he’d thoughtfully added to her meal and hurled it at the approximate level of his head.

Letting a wicked laugh ring out, he walked away. He went to the study between her suite and his, where he could hear or smell her if she tried to emerge from that room. Passing the sitting area lined with bookcases, he sat behind the massive mahogany desk to wait. He wasn’t surprised when the snow leopard decided to leave him to his own devices for a bit.

On the desk, a few personal items from the flamethrower jackass waited. No I.D. of any civilian sort, but Perrin had taken and printed a photograph of the tattoo on the man’s bicep. It was a stylized German eagle, not too close to a Nazi image, ringed by three circles: black, red, and black. He’d seen it before; the oubliette might have been full of the image – if flesh and ink didn’t have a tendency to rot together.

~ ~ ~

When he returned to check on his captive, he found her trying to open one of the locked and sealed windows. She jumped and whirled to face him, and he snorted in amusement to see that she’d put her boots back on under the bathrobe in addition to wrapping a wool blanket from the bed around her.

Victor stepped over the shards of broken glass and pooling milk on the wood floor and shut the door behind him, leaning back against it with arms and ankles crossed casually in an effort to appear less threatening.

“Tryin’ t’ run away in that in tha dead o’ a Yukon winter wouldn’t get ya too far, frail – even without me comin’ after ya.”

“Better than staying here – or ending up back in that death pit.”

“Why’d ya start movin’ bodies ‘round? Were ya lookin’ fer Hoggle t’ help ya escape tha Labyrinth?”

“I thought I could climb them.”

“Huh. Didn’t get too far.”

He glanced at the table and smiled – she had eaten the food and most of the water was gone from the glass pitcher, too. Her fingers gripped the window sill, her scent displaying her fear and confusion as clearly as the wary expression on her face.

Victor realized slowly that it was difficult for her to deal with him as an intelligent and free man, instead of either the childlike lobotomized feral she had once helped nurse back to health, or the rabid, drooling killer.

 _Still stuck on notions o’ redemption, frail?_  he thought.  _Hell if that might not play ya right int’ my hands. What else have I got t’ work with? All sorts o’ shit t’ piss ya off, but how ‘bout fer reelin’ ya in?_

Memories of their visits together during his imprisonment in the Danger Room were clear as a bell after he’d regained the ability to speak; they got a bit fuzzier the further he pushed into the mindless time. Anything she had said to him was easy to pick out, but not the rest. He remembered the milk – just thinking about it made him angry again.

Abruptly, he recalled the feel of her hands on his body. Fueled by the proximity of her alluring scent, the memory came on more vividly than it had in years. She had petted his back as he drank, but she had petted other things, too. Struggling to keep the wide grin from taking over his face, he worked it into a lopsided smirk.

“What are you … smiling at?”

“Just reminiscin’, that’s all.” He moved off of the door, amused by her flinch, and went to sit in the wingchair again. “Grab some wood, girl – let’s chat.”

As expected, she veered wide from both the bed and him and pulled one of the wooden chairs away from the table. She almost fell into it as her knees buckled. Staring at him from across the table, her hands fisted the edges of the robe closed at her throat.

“Ya got any questions fer me, before we get rollin’? But leave off tha ‘will I kill ya’ shit, huh? It gets old.”

“Why did you say you were Fisk?”

“Richard ‘Dick’ Fisk is an old alias from outta British Columbia years ago. It’s also tha name o’ tha Kingpin, Wilson Fisk’s son, who went sorta straight. I enjoy screwin’ up ‘is brandy new rep fer tha hell o’ it. Also, there’s plenty o’ assholes lookin’ fer me; I get more relax time if they think rumors o’ me are him. Yer boss Rothenberg knows tha alias – it’s tha name I was usin’ when he tried t’ hire me.”

“He’s not my boss, he’s a client. ‘Tried’ to hire you?”

Victor let the grin go. “Couldn’t afford me – then or now. He seems a touch bitter ‘bout it.”

“He said you stole something, someone valuable … from him.”

“Man duped ya, but he didn’t lie there.”

“Sabretooth, please –”

“Call me Victor,” he offered, morphing the grin into an approximation of a friendly smile. “Ya never needed an invite before, Tabitha.”

Ignoring the gibe, she pleaded, “Don’t play games with me, please. If you’re honest with me, I’ll be honest with you. No games. Okay?”

“We’ll see, won’t we?”

“Where is Goshana? Is she in your dungeon?”

“Ya were tha only one down there, only one alive anyway.”

“Where is she? What have you done to her?”

“She’s close, somewhere – got tha run o’ tha place. She’s been sleepin’ in my bed.”

The girl went pale. “Is she … a child?”

“Depends on yer point o’ view. She’s ‘bout two or three, near as I can guess.”

“You monster! She’s a baby!” The girl jumped to her feet, her anger snapping in the chilled air.

Victor frowned at her, but he kept his seat and his temper. Her implication didn’t bother him, but defiance always made him hungry for blood. His claws slid out slow and unbidden from fingers and toes. “She was grown up enough t’ leave ‘er mother, t’ start huntin’ on ‘er own. That’s when Rothenberg’s apes caught ‘er.” Smiling again at her confusion, he added, “It’s tha cat, ya stupid li’l skirt.”

He gave a gruff growling call to the animal, having scented her lurking outside the door. Through the wood, they heard her low chuffing response. Victor rose and went to open the door, brushing the large hunks of broken glass out of the way with the side of his foot.

The stunned girl fell back into her chair and watched as the cat leapt smoothly over the spilled milk to pace at his side across the room. He’d left the door open, in case she wanted to slip away again, but she settled at his feet instead as soon as he reclaimed his chair.

Her voice thin and brittle, the girl whispered, “That’s Goshana?”

“Nope – that’s a snow leopard. I don’t call ‘er by any name that human offal saddled ‘er with while he had ‘er. He was starvin’ ‘er, so she’d eat anyone he dropped int’ ‘er cage. Real ‘Dr. Evil’, that shithead, or so he thinks. I heard ‘bout it from some o’ ‘is goons at tha local waterhole. Pissed me tha fuck off, so I stole ‘er. She doesn’t like ya cuz ya kicked ‘er tha night we caught ya.”

“So now she’s just going to be your pet?”

“No, but I gotta schedule t’ keep, so she’s just chillin’ out with me here ‘til I can take ‘er back t’ where she belongs.”

“Where is that?”

“Nepal.” Victor frowned at her. “Now ya get it, girl? How he played ya? Got ya thinkin’ it was a human skirt, didn’t he? Sent ya on a rescue mission – right int’ my teeth. In war, an’ in tha contract business, that’s called a suicide run.”

“I figured that out, thanks.”

“What tha hell did ya do t’ piss ‘im off that bad?”

“I was supposed to catch a man who had double-crossed him and bring him back to Seattle, turn him over.” She swallowed hard, trying not to shed the tears gathering in her eyes. “I screwed it up and the Anchorage cops got him. Rothenberg said if I killed the guy, he’d pay me; I refused.”

Victor whistled. “Old toad wouldn’t like that, frail. Put yer foot in it good.”

“I asked if I could do anything else to fix things and he offered to pay me to get his property back.”

“Offered what?”

“$100,000 in cash.”

Shaking his head, Victor chuckled. He slid down in the chair to a comfortable slump, his arms stretched along the wide arms of the chair, ankles crossing again. “I wouldn’t fetch a cat out o’ a tree fer that.”

“He called it hazard pay – for dealing with Fisk.”

That made Victor laugh outright. “Gotta admit, ya had a few clues it might turn out bad fer ya.” He could almost smell the rusty wheels turning in her head as she watched him. Once, her gaze dipped down and then back up, taking in his long, stretched out slouch in the chair. It made his blood burn, made it flow in a rush below his waistband, too. “Say what’s on yer mind, girl – got free rein on yer tongue here, wherever ya might be thinkin’ o’ puttin’ it.”

She didn’t blush, proving that she was still too terrified to remember that she had once been drawn to touch him quite a bit. Her next question was verbally vague, but reading both expression and scent made her meaning clear.

“Why did you stop?”

“Ya didn’t seem like tha happiest o’ campers.”

“I doubt that’s ever stopped you from raping a woman before. Why, Creed?”

“Seen tha error o’ my ways, maybe?”

She glared at him, anger beginning to edge out terror. “Bullshit. No games. Why?”

Victor grinned. “Awright, ya got me. I gotta job comin’ up out in Vancouver – caper like that, I could use a gal o’ yer talents. Way I figure it, yer more likely t’ play if I ain’t already hacked ya off by splittin’ ya without askin’.”

“What makes you think I’ll ‘play’ anyway?”

“Ya weren’t takin’ jobs with Rothenberg fer kicks. Ya need money. I don’t usually subcontract, bein’ I’m capable o’ doin’ most anythin’ myself, but this one’ll go a helluva lot smoother with ya on board, an’ I’m double booked as it is.”

“Your ‘jobs’ are rarely anything short of murder. I’m not a killer, so no dice.”

“Ya just ain’t tried it yet, but ya got that look ‘bout ya, like ya thought ‘bout it more’n once. ‘No games’ goes both ways, Tabitha. Ain’t ya wanted t’ taste what it’s like?”

“I have. I’ve wanted to kill you, as a matter of fact – still do.”

Victor grunted. “We can spar fer fun later.” He shifted and sat up straight in the chair, spreading his clawed fingers wide on his thighs. “Thing is, this job ain’t killin’; it’s sabotage. Major destruction o’ private property – a plant that’s bein’ built with an eye t’ makin’ bad shit, stuff that’d hurt a lot o’ folks. Tell Uncle Victor that ain’t just right up yer hero alley.”

“Why would you take on a job like that?”

“Pay’s good an’ destroyin’ shit’s a hoot – what’s not t’ like? Anyhow, consider yer options – I can pay ya t’ help me, or I can play with my food ‘til I get bored with it. First is tha more survivable.”

“That’s no choice at all, is it?”

“Is fer me. I’m fifty-fifty – either way sounds like a helluva lotta fun.”

“I guess this is the part where you lie and promise to let me go afterward, unharmed and richer?”

“Tell ya a secret ‘bout me, skirt, call it a freebie – I get t’ wantin’ comp’ny here an’ there. That’s why I let this an’ that human live in my safe houses an’ work fer me, ‘sides tha practical junk they’re good fer. Pencil yerself in on that list while tha offer’s good, an’ ya might still get t’ grow old. Ain’t gonna waste yer time or mine tellin’ ya I don’t double-cross. Fact is, I think it’s fun, most o’ tha time – tha looks on folk’s faces are nearly always worth it – but I only indulge when it ain’t gonna effect my bottom line.”

“Your bottom line is?”

“Heh, call yerself a contract gal. Bottom line’s money. Client’s gotta trust me, or word gets out – then it’s hard t’ get work no matter how good ya are. Natch, they all know what they’ll get if they play me – world o’ hurt an’ a burnin’ need fer a coroner. Gotta know tha game t’ survive playin’ it, on both sides. So – whattaya think?”

“What – exactly – is at stake?”

“Told ya that – need t’ wreck this shit an’ keep my schedule on track. Ya come on board fer that, maybe even help plan where t’ put yer bombs, an’ I’ll start t’ see ya as a partner instead o’ a toy, a fuck, an’ a snack – not strictly in that order, neither. Got it?”

She swallowed hard. “No killing involved?”

“Scout’s honor.” Victor smirked and held up his hand in a Boy Scout’s salute.

“You were never a Scout.”

“Aw, am I that transparent? Truth is, I’ve eaten a couple in my day, an’ I think that oughta count.”

She held herself tightly and he could smell the bile rising in her throat. “I can’t trust you.”

“Ain’t askin’ ya t’ trust me. I’m gettin’ two million fer this – I’ll cut ya in fer a quarter o’ that, seein’s I still gotta do most o’ tha hard work. That’s a damn sight more’n what tha shithead was gonna pay ya, so don’t that just tempt ya all t’ hell?”

“What, you’ll just hand me $500,000 cash in unmarked bills?”

“Why not? I gotta wrap up in Canada an’ get on with other jobs in tha States, Germany, an’ South Africa. Plus tha personal run up t’ Nepal, which is threatenin’ t’ push it all back. Dunno if ya looked at a map lately, but it ain’t on tha way t’ much else on my itinerary. With ya signed up, I can get goin’ a lot quicker.”

She struggled with the choice in spite of how graphically he’d illustrated that it wasn’t much of a choice at all. When she slumped in the chair, her tears falling, he knew he had her.

“Which’ll it be, frail? I already gotta itch gonna need scratchin’ if ya say no.”

“I’m in,” she whispered, “but as a partner in destruction of evil factories only. Don’t … touch me, and I’ll work for you.”

Victor smirked and rose out of the chair, stalking around the table until he towered over her. “Keep my mind outta tha gutter, an’ I’ll consider keepin’ it hands-off. Next time ya gimme tha once-over, though, I’ll figure it’s an invitation.” His voice dropped to a silken threatening purr under his words. “Now fer some rules – ya toss one more bomb at me, or any damn offensive action on my furry guest over there, or anythin’ else that’s mine, an’ I’ll gut ya where ya stand. Ya hear me?”

“Y-yes...”

He stepped forward again, so close that one leg pressed against her clamped knees. Her clipped yelp and blast of fear stink made his half-awake erection twitch in his pants.

“Make no mistake, I’ll touch ya if I damn well please. How much I do it an’ with what might just depend on how ya behave. One bomb an’ ya die. Save it fer Vancouver an’ live t’ get paid an’ get gone. Ya still in now, frail?”

Trembling, unable to speak, she nodded quickly.

Victor held out his hand inches from her face, the metal claws long and gleaming. “Care t’ shake on it?”

“Not on your life,” she murmured.

Victor chuckled as he stepped back, then turned away and went to the door. “All tha same, I’ll take ya up on that sparrin’ match – t’morrow evenin’.”

“I’m not insane enough to spar with you, Creed.”

“Not playin’ fer keeps, girl. If I’m gonna rely on ya in tha field, I gotta know what yer capable o’ doin’ don’t I?”

“How quickly they forget.”

“Lot o’ blood under that bridge, frail; we’ve both changed since.” He let the cat slip past him and then paused in the doorway. “Tha matched set o’ Frenchmen are under my orders, but feel free t’ ask ‘em fer anythin’ ya need. Brys, tha older one, he’s tha cook. Perrin’s my … handyman, sorta ‘jack-o’-all-trades’. They can get ya clothes, too.”

“If you let me go back for my stuff –”

“Yeah, I see that happenin’ – already took care o’ that.”

When he began to walk away, leaving the door open, she called out, “Aren’t you going to lock me in?”

“Nope. Yer a soon t’ be paid member o’ tha staff now, far as I’m concerned. Fair warnin’, though, this house an’ tha grounds are booby-trapped all over tha fuckin’ place. So watch yer step – partner.”


	3. Testing Ground

Do you take what's in the box  
Or what's behind door 213  
Chocolate man's gone crazy  
He's in the Oxford up the street  
Gonna take the Green River boat ride  
With a Sea-Tac walking ho  
With a cast of killers,  
Black and Decker drillers  
Funked up mental load

Hides the hooded Zodiac  
Hey baby, what's your sign  
Got San Francisco shaking  
Like the San Andreas line  
Chuckie's selling time share  
At the San Quentin country club  
Gein the mean lone furniture fiend  
Selling tickets to his house of blood

The sweat beads up as the devil in you  
Winds your ticking time bomb  
And lights your vicious fuse

Gone, gone daddy, you're really gone  
On your bed of tales you somber on  
Gone, gone daddy, you're just a body thief  
Gone, gone daddy, you're really gone  
Does it get you high, does it turn you on  
Gone, gone daddy, you're just a body thief

~ Body Thief (Faster Pussycat)

*****************************************************************

She didn’t know how long she had sat slumped in the chair at the table after he left, her mind a riot of fear and desperation. She didn’t even know if it was day or night, or how long she’d been in the horrid pit. The windows were covered with thick curtains and she wasn’t sure she had the strength to go and see if there was light outside.

Slowly, Tabitha realized that she still smelled like the corpses left to rot there. The urge to clean up was strangled by the terror of being naked in this place. With the shower scene from  _Psycho_  spinning in her head, she felt sure Sabretooth wouldn’t leave her alone if he heard her bathing.

A knock on the open door made her jump, her guts cramping. Looking up, she saw a middle-aged man standing there, his smile and posture trying to appear open and non-threatening. Speech wouldn’t come yet, so she just stared at him.

“Ah, Miss … Smith, I believe he said? I’m Brys Cuvier, the cook. Have you had enough to eat, or do you need anything?”

Swallowing, trying to find enough spit to talk, Tabitha muttered, “Clothes. My clothes. He ruined...”

“Yes, well, I brought this in for you.” He took another step inside the room and lifted her duffel bag into view around the door.

“Where’s the rest of my stuff?”

“The snowmobile has been stored in the garage, most of the gear with it. I packed a couple of sweaters in here, as well; I’m afraid Mr. Creed destroyed your jacket. It’s very cold in the house, no electric heat – so...”

“‘Mr. Creed’, is it? Are you aware of what your boss does, what he is?”

“Quite aware. Unable to do much about it, but aware.”

“Where is he?”

“In the master suite, down the hall. He is – preoccupied.”

“With what?”

“With my … co-worker, Perrin.”

“Okay...” Her confusion hadn’t gone anywhere. “Preoccupied long enough to give me time to bathe, uninterrupted?”

“Difficult to say, but I expect so. You seem to have wound him up considerably, miss.”

“Wound him – what is he doing?”

“Generally, I try not to know.”

“Is this guy going to survive the experience?”

“Oh, yes – he enjoys it when Mr. Creed sends for him.”

“Wow.”

“Miss Smith?”

“Sabretooth is gay?”

The man smiled slightly, a tolerant expression settling over his features. “No, Miss Smith – Perrin, my lover, and I are gay. Mr. Creed is – opportunistic. If you wish to remain unharmed, may I suggest that you avoid labeling him – at least within his impressive hearing.”

“Your lover? Bit of shared property, huh?” She didn’t know why she was attacking, but she couldn’t help labeling this guy – as the enemy.

“Mr. Creed takes whatever he wants, usually the instant it occurs to him that he wants it. At the moment, Perrin is the reason he hasn’t raped you outright yet, so a modicum of gratitude wouldn’t be inconceivable.” Stepping over the little puddle of milk, he moved into the room and laid the bag down on the bed. “The tub is equipped with a showerhead and curtain as well, so one isn’t limited to a leisurely bath.”

“Maybe I should stay good and stinky – might deter ‘amorous’ attention.”

“That would be ill-advised. Mr. Creed isn’t like other men – the smell of that charnel pit is like fine French perfume to him.”

“Throw a touch of goat’s blood on my pulse points and I’m an instant prom date, is that it?”

“Your own blood will suffice, miss, just fine. Feel free to lock the door, but understand – locks never stop him. If you are quick, you might have a chance to be out and properly dressed before he emerges for supper.”

“Supper. What time is it? Hell, what day is it?”

“Early evening, just after six, and Friday. You spent almost two days in the oubliette. Now if you’d like to start your shower, I will clean up this mess.”

“You said you’re the cook?”

“Yes, miss.”

“The milk wasn’t your idea, was it?”

“Ah, no, miss. Frankly, I don’t try to understand some of Mr. Creed’s requests. Supper will be ready by eight and he will require your presence in the dining room. I’ll return to guide you there when it’s time.”

“Yeah, right. Can’t wait to sup with the devil.”

She watched him leave. Standing stiffly, she rose and rifled through the duffel bag. She’d expected her phone to be absent. All of her other personal belongings were there, except, weirdly, the iPod. The charger cables for them were missing, too. Shaking her head, she grabbed some clothes to wear with one of the thick sweaters and tried to walk without stumbling to the bathroom.

~ ~ ~

Tabitha slipped out of the suite before the cook came to fetch her. He’d cleaned up the milk and shards of glass, but hadn’t locked her in. Sabretooth’s threat of booby-traps hung in her head, but she couldn’t just sit in the room where he’d put her and not try to find some way out of her captivity.

The hall outside of her room was open with a tall wooden railing that allowed one to look out and down at the vast space the stairs occupied, dominating a formal entrance hall. Down at the end of the hall, she saw the carved wooden double doors of what had to be the master suite. Another pair of doors, less fancy, waited in between, but that seemed to be all there was to that floor; the hall and its railing stopped about ten feet beyond the master suite’s doors.

She hadn’t lived at least part time in the Xavier mansion without picking up a thing or two about the layout of rich people’s homes. Judging by the way the third floor was set up, the master suite had to be huge, taking up most of the floor. It appeared to be the top floor, too, but looking at the estate through binoculars had told her that there was plenty to this place that was higher than the floor she was on.

_Maybe the rest is accessed from elsewhere, or even from inside the master suite? Doesn’t matter, Tab. You want down, this time – shooter game rules – so let’s see what’s waiting on level two._

Creeping out to and down the staircase, she didn’t stop to enter the second floor hallway. Like the third floor, it was open with a railing, but it circled all the way around with many more doors – some single, some double, all closed.

Below her, the real prize waited: the main exit. She couldn’t make out what was hanging on the wall over it, but it appeared to be some sort of weird massive rectangle constructed out of metal. She would place it somewhere between a piece of modern art and one of those ugly statues only the ridiculously rich would waste their money on. It was recessed into the wall in a way that didn’t allow the light of the chandelier to display it clearly at all.

 _What’s the point of buying it if you can’t even see what it really looks like?_  Overwhelmed by the sheer size and decadent opulence of the house, she muttered, “Boy, they lied – crime sure as hell does pay.”

On the ground floor, there were two hallways, one on either side of the entrance hall, but she didn’t even look at them. Facing the front doors of the house, she looked around and then sprinted over to them. Cursing when she rattled one of the doors and found them locked, she lifted a hand out of habit.

“Those doors count as mine, frail.”

Tabitha froze at that voice. Turning and looking up, she saw him standing on the third floor, leaning his thick forearms on the railing. Even from that distance, she could see the metallic gleam of his claws in the light from the huge antler chandelier overhead.

For all she knew, he might have been standing there nude. It was a theory more proved than not in the next moment when another man appeared from the open double doors behind him.

This one was shorter and more slender than the cook, but of similar complexion and dark hair. She watched, dumbfounded, as he ran a caressing palm across Creed’s back as he passed, belatedly closing a thick black robe around his bruised and scratched naked body. It was far too big for him and trailed a few feet behind him when he started down the stairs.

“I’ll give her a tour of the servant’s wing, Mr. Creed,” he said, smiling at her. “Perhaps there’s something she could help with in the kitchen before supper.”

Creed snorted and glared, and Tabitha held her breath until he turned away and went back to the suite. “Not in tha mood t’ go chasin’ rabbits in tha snow – watch ‘er, boy. Gonna nap ‘til tha grub’s ready.”

“Brys will want to know what wine you’d like with the meal?”

“Pop one o’ tha bottles o’ Cristal – we’re celebratin’ my new business relationship.”

The doors above closed, but not before she got a look at the man’s bare backside. The muscles of his back and long legs were insanely ripped and she’d stared before she remembered it could be hazardous to her health – but he never turned to see it.

“Impressive, isn’t he?”

“Perrin, is it?”

“Yes.”

“You’re ah … willing to mess with that?”

“Any chance I’m offered. Shall we?”

Mystified, she followed him to a door she hadn’t noticed at the side of the staircase. It opened to reveal a wide white hallway with a tiled floor. Dotted with still more closed wooden doors, it was actually lit with light bulb-bearing fixtures at regular intervals.

“Electricity – that’s a nice change. What’s with all the closed doors everywhere?”

“Only parts of the house are wired for electricity. Heat is maintained with fireplaces and most of the doors are shut to keep that heat where the people are.”

“Just three people?”

“Brys and I are the only servants who live here. Mr. Creed doesn’t feel the cold much, but he’s generous in letting us indulge in little luxuries.”

“Generous – not a term I’ve heard linked to him before.”

“Living under his roof can be quite different if you give him a reason to trust you.”

“Heh. Not really one of my goals, Froggy.”

“It should be. A suspicious feral mutant is far more deadly. Here is the kitchen.”

She followed him into a room that looked more like a four-star restaurant’s backstage area. Pots and other utensils, including a lot of knives, either hung from steel racks over the stone countertops, or waited in wooden blocks and shelves around the room.

The cook was there, busy and bustling. He came up to them when he saw them, spatula in hand and kissed the younger man in front of her without qualms. They spoke briefly together in French, Perrin gesturing to her once. Glancing at her, the cook switched back to English, presumably for her benefit.

“I was going to bring her down soon,” he said.

“She elected to explore.”

“Are you all right? Was he..?”

“Yes, never better. He wasn’t cruel.”

The two embraced quickly before the cook stepped back and returned to something that was bubbling in a cast iron pot on the stove.

“You’d best get dressed, and then if you would, both of you can help me; I need to finish setting the table as well.”

Nodding, Perrin turned to leave. “Stay here... What is your name?”

“Tabitha.” She caught his arm when he passed her and he paused. “He wasn’t ‘cruel’? How is that even possible? The man’s a monster, a killer, and a rapist.”

“Yes, he is. He’s also very – talented. When inspired by the proper attitude, the right demeanor, it is possible to have every nerve you possess blown out at once – if you can make him care about your own pleasure, that is.”

Tabitha watched him go with her mouth open. “Is he bonkers?”

“Perrin has unusual tastes.”

“So has Creed ever been ‘not cruel’ to you?”

Moving back to his stirring, the cook smiled. “I haven’t been required to attend to his other needs, for which I admit I’m grateful.”

“What’s your secret? I’d like to join that club, not your boyfriend’s. If that psychotic bastard puts one more finger on me, I’ll toss my cookies in his lap.”

“Mr. Creed mentioned that he had ‘history’ with you. What did he do to you?”

“He gutted a friend of mine who was trying to keep him from killing me – this after I helped him. He’s a real prince, your boss.”

“Your boss, too, now – I suggest a business-like manner around him for the best possible response.”

“Business-like. I was just going to try not to go catatonic when he walks into the same room I’m in.”

“Showing fear isn’t the best idea, miss, though Perrin disagrees – odd, considering he never seems to be afraid of Mr. Creed. One thing we do agree on that you should certainly avoid is looking at him with revulsion.”

“Yeah, right. I’ll just invite him to thumb-wrestle. By the way, why do you guys only speak French to each other?”

“Mr. Creed is not fond of the language and prefers us to speak English.”

“I’d have thought ‘Mr. International Man of Murder and Mayhem’ could understand French.”

“I said he isn’t fond of it, not that he couldn’t understand it. I have no idea how many languages he speaks, or to what degree he is fluent in them. I suspect he knows more of them than Perrin and I together can claim.”

“Geez, which of you is the president of the creep’s fan club?”

“Miss Smith, you seem to be a decent young woman.” He laid his spoon down on the counter and faced her. “If you’re here to assist him in Vancouver, whether or not you live to see it, or survive after the job is done, will depend on how you handle Mr. Creed. Perrin and I are willing to help you with that in any way we can, but your combative attitude will only get you abused and killed.”

“My combative – who kidnapped, walloped and nearly raped who, here? You two want to help me, show me the back door and get out of my way, got it?”

Sighing, he went back to cooking. “Mr. Creed has very mercurial moods, but he is notoriously vain, a fact that can save your life if you can grasp how to make use of it. He also seeks blood like a boy goes after candy. If you aren’t providing one or more of the things he keeps people like us around for – creature comforts, sex, a bit of conversation here and there – then he’ll end up using you to appease his bloodlust.”

“Brys, isn’t it?”

“Yes, miss.”

“I’m here because he threatened to kill me if I didn’t agree to help in Vancouver. Once we run down there, I’ll blow up some stuff for him and hopefully escape with my life, with or without getting paid. I don’t plan on having time to get cozy in my new job around here.”

“You will have time, I’m afraid.”

“Why, when does he go to Vancouver?”

“We don’t know the exact date, only he does. He told me it would be a least a week or two, maybe longer, so that I would know what quantity of supplies to stock up on before he arrived here.”

“Maybe a week – or more? Super. I’m so dead.”

~ ~ ~

When Tabitha managed to eat something at the long formal dining table, she was surprised that she could also keep it down. She had more than one glass of the fancy champagne to steady her nerves.

She would have thought Sabretooth would be the silent brooding type, and maybe he was here and there, but at dinner his willingness to talk was a shock. She listened mostly, only speaking when addressed directly. However, he seemed content to speak with the Frenchmen and less interested in baiting or tormenting her.

Both of the servants sat at dinner with them, instead of standing around in white jackets ready to fill everyone’s wine glasses. The food was more meat dishes than anything else and their host ignored any serving dish that held vegetables.

Tabitha didn’t know if she was eating cow, deer, moose, or people – she just chewed and swallowed and tried to hit the vegetables more than once.

She shivered in the chilled room, even though her chair was the closest to the long and low fireplace. When she lifted her glass for Brys to fill it again, Creed’s voice slid down the table to her.

“Go easy on that, frail. I’ve decided t’ move our sparrin’ match up a night. Give ya an hour after this, an’ then we’ll go.”

She didn’t respond beyond a slight nod. Watching him return to his talk with Perrin, she tried to think if there was anyone on the outside who could help her. Anyway she sliced it though, she knew the best opportunity for escape would be in Vancouver, not out here in the middle of arctic nowhere.

Trying to do it in a series of casual glances, she studied Creed as he talked. Stale memories had to be pushed away, but she remembered vividly how animated his face was. Even the strange amber eyes, glowing slightly, seemed capable of a startling amount of expression.

Weirdly, they’d been normal eyes in the Danger Room, with bright blue irises and deep black pupils, the whites almost devoid of blood vessels. Later, when he healed into a monster again, they’d turned back into the amber pits of menace. She’d never understood why they’d changed.

It was hard not to get caught up staring at two particular features of his face: the ears and the teeth.

His ears were pointed, like Spock, but they slanted back naturally, too. Then they’d move, pinning down with anger or pricking up more in a question – always with that odd backward slant to their shape.

The teeth, like the claws, were hard not to stare at. She’d noticed years ago that more of them were pointed than just the four canines, though. One smaller tooth on both sides of each canine was a razor spike. A saber-toothed cat’s longest fangs were the top canines, but on Creed, it was the bottom pair. The upper ones were far longer than Wolverine’s fang teeth, but the bottoms were almost obscene. They stuck out from his lower lip even when his mouth was closed. The lower fangs looked rounded in front, but tapered at the back to a serrated edge, the width from front to back wide, so that in profile they looked like curved blades. She was surprised every time he spoke that he managed it without some sort of lisp.

Once, after Sabretooth had started speaking to her in the Danger Room, she had asked Beast about it in his lab as casually as she could. After giving her a hard, long look, he had told her it had to do with the feral mutant’s jaw. It was longer and wider than a human jaw and hinged differently, allowing him to open his mouth wide enough to use the lower fangs in a slashing motion. Perhaps to remind her of the danger the feral posed, he’d also casually dropped the fact that unlike saber-toothed cats, Creed had a bite force considerably more powerful than modern lions.

The width of the jaw meant room for more teeth, too – the ‘Tooth Monger, as Beast often called him, had several extra over a human or non-feral mutant. Only the front central teeth on top and bottom looked human. She couldn’t see them, but Beast had told her that what would be molars in a human jaw were more like a lion’s teeth in Creed’s mouth. He’d called it a carnassial shear: molars that had developed spikes of their own for shearing meat. She supposed it explained the odd way he ate, often turning his head to the side to bite meat; he wasn’t technically chewing at all – he was shearing the meat into pieces small enough to swallow.

Tabitha spent the entire meal trying not to look at Creed’s hands. He didn’t use them to enhance his talking with gestures like most people, however, nor did he use them to pick up a fork. Hunks or slices of meat were speared with the claws to be sheared into chunks by the fangs and teeth. More than once, his oddly long tongue slithered out to lick his thick fingers clean of bloody juices.

She watched the tongue disappear again until just the tip was visible, and fell into staring as it toyed with the tip of one of the upper fangs.  _I wonder how often he stabs or slices it by mistake? Guess if it heals in seconds, it wouldn’t matter._

“Had enough, girl?”

Tabitha startled. Looking up at his malevolent smirk, she swallowed. “Yes.”

He was wearing jeans again, different ones – these had holes at both knees that didn’t look like they’d been bought that way for the sake of rugged fashion. The choker at his throat was bleached white bones and teeth – probably human.

Most of the fur on his upper body was covered by a black t-shirt and she was still trying to reconcile the fact that it had a Rolling Stones tour logo, cracked and faded, stretched across his barrel chest. Upstairs in the room they’d put her in, she had seen the longer fur thatched in the center of his chest and running along the edges of his forearms bristle and stand when he’d yelled at her. In the Danger Room, he’d been calm, until the end. She knew the fur grew longer down his spine between the shoulderblades, skipped mid-back, and picked up again down to his tailbone. Most of him was accented with that gold fur; it followed muscle patterns and all of it was soft fur, nothing like human body hair. She’d never had the guts to see if the pubic hair was the same.

_The ‘mane’ is longer, still has that impossible curl to it, too. It was only past his shoulders a bit in the Danger Room and now it’s trailing most of the way down his back._

Creed put his elbow on the table and rested his stubbly and broad cleft chin on the heel of his hand, the metal claws glinting in the light of his eyes. The brush of long fur on the forearm went past the elbow to curl on the tabletop. Tabitha was watching how the wide mutton chop sideburns were tangled with wayward strands of blonde hair, all the fur nearly hiding the high cheekbones and strong planes of the face.

Abruptly, the stare penetrated her thoughts. Sitting back in her chair with a start, she realized what she’d been doing in time for his smirk to stretch into a broad Cheshire grin.

“Ain’t I tha handsomest atrocity o’ nature ya ever saw, frail? Tha face’s new, too, after some fuck o’ yer former boss burned tha old one off o’ my skull.”

Before her mind could shut down in terror, she remembered what Brys had told her about vanity. Gulping and dropping her gaze to the half-empty glass in front of her, she spoke and tried to do it without her voice cracking.

“I always thought you were handsome. Jubilee mooned about Wolverine a lot, but I’ve never been into short.”

She was stunned when he burst out laughing. It was a more pleasant sound than the ringing cruel laughter in her nightmares.

“Tha runt runs ‘round scowlin’ too fuckin’ much; got all that tortured nobility weighin’ ‘im down. He pisses ya off, don’t he, girl?”

“He likes to have opinions about how I live my life. It’s annoying, yeah.”

“Never liked ya hangin’ out with me, that’s fer damn sure. Too bad.” He stood and it was like seeing a mountain of muscle rise up and up, the palms pressing down on the table as he leaned in to stare at her again – because she was still staring at him. “Let’s go get sweaty, frail – show me what ya got. That kick ya caught my guest with was prime.”

Tabitha followed him, wishing she had the guts, or the stupidity, to bolt and run. The formal dining room had been down the right side hallway if she were facing what he called the grand staircase. They went through the entrance hall again and passed the stairs to enter the left side hallway.

Candles in wall sconces lit the main halls and when he opened yet another set of thick wooden doors, the room beyond was illuminated dimly by a second massive chandelier of antlers and cables. A similar fireplace to the one in the kitchen ran along the inside wall, the mantel standing at five feet, the length of it over ten feet. There was wood and tinder ready for a fire, but it was cold and dark, leaving the room freezing.

The floor, like the rest of the house, was polished wood, the chamber long and wide. She assumed it had several tall narrow windows, too, but all she could see was thick maroon drapes hung at intervals down the outer wall. The room was empty, except for a cluster of surprisingly modern exercise equipment at one end.

“A stair machine?” she asked, too amazed to remember to be afraid at the moment. “A treadmill... You have to work out?”

Chuckling, he closed the doors. “That’s theirs. One o’ tha perks o’ a healin’ factor’s bein’ naturally ripped.”

“Oh. Must be nice.”

“It don’t suck. Most mutants are a cut above; that’s what ‘homo superior’ means, ain’t it?”

“Yeah, well, I still have to rack up a few crunches here and there.”

“Don’t worry, girl – I’ll keep ya fit an’ trim.”

The fear was back, cutting into her gut and stealing her breath. “What sort of … sparring … did you have in mind? Do you know martial arts?”

He turned to face her and all the claws were out. “Never learned that shit an’ don’t need it. I’m a backwoods bar brawler, all tha way. Over a hundred years down, it’s worked just fine.”

“Um … you wanted to ‘see what I’ve got’ – does that include bombs? It’s a big part of the overall package.”

“Sure, if ya ain’t throwin’ ‘em at me.” He went over to the cluster of exercise equipment and reached into a wooden crate with both hands. They came up full of clay targets, like you would use for shooting practice. “Tell ya what, I’ll toss some o’ these any which way, an’ ya can blast ‘em before they hit tha floor.”

Looking around her, she asked abruptly, “Was this a ballroom?”

“Naw, double parlor. Tha original furniture’s all stored – twig French shit, useless fer sittin’ on an’ sprawlin’ out.”

“Who did you buy it – I mean, I assume you bought it.”

“Yeah, I bought it – from lawyers. Former owner went ten toes up, without my assistance. It took tha place o’ tha house in Vancouver.”

“You’ve changed things I bit, I guess – most wealthy French landowners don’t have oubliettes and dungeons.”

“Made a few changes. Oubliette was already here; it wasn’t empty, neither. Ya ready, or would ya rather keep stallin’ some more?”

“Y-yeah, sorry.”

Eyeing her thoughtfully, he sighed. “Not gonna eat ya, girl. Ya got skills I can use, don’t ya? Behave, an’ ya won’t get dead.”

He started throwing the round clay disks before she was quite ready, but she got ready fast, knowing she had to impress him. Using the small golf ball sized bombs, she destroyed every target in a matter of heartbeats.

“Not bad. That it?”

“Well, not exactly. Got more?”

“Sure.” He fetched another handful out of the crate. Tossing them farther and faster, he watched her avidly.

Tabitha let the lethal spikes of her power burst out of her hands like Pete Wisdom had taught her, winging them out as fast as bullets to burst the last targets into flaming dust.

“Ya don’t hafta count ‘em down, huh?”

“That was mostly for effect – psychological warfare, sort of, to scare the people I was throwing the bombs at. I don’t need to do that, though. I can still explode them when and where I want, as well, but now...”

He was advancing on her, almost stalking her and the fear closed her throat, cutting off her words.

“Now ya can suck ‘em back up. Congrats, girl – I’m impressed. Punch me.”

“What?”

Creed frowned, one eyebrow arching. “Ya ever sparred before? It involves whackin’ each other a bit. Punch me.”

“Are you going to punch me back?”

“Probly not – tryin’ not t’ break ya too bad. Here, let’s do this – ya get yer strikes in, with yer ninja shit, an’ I’ll block ‘em if I don’t feel like just takin’ it.”

“Um, okay.” Shaking in her boots, she threw a punch – hitting the Rolling Stones lips and tongue in the kisser, dead center of his chest. She had to jump to do it and it didn’t even make him grunt.

Grinning, Creed started to taunt her. The first remarks didn’t hit home; then he used an old favorite. “That it, frail? Didn’t yer daddy teach ya t’ punch harder’n that when he’d beat ya down fer breakin’ a dinner plate?”

He started to laugh, but her next strike was a solid side kick to his stomach and that got a grunt; he even stepped back a pace.

One more crack about her father and she was off. All the pent up horror and anger, the terror he’d made her endure, fueled her attack. Most of the hits, he just took, only a few of them effecting him much at all. When she sent a front kick up to his groin, his large hand snagged her ankle, yanked, and held her upside down by it.

Thrashing and yelling, she yelped when he dropped her onto her head. Her hands barely turned it into a roll in time and she landed on her knees, panting, glaring up at him.

“They always go fer tha crotch.”

“Softest part, isn’t it?”

“Not right now.”

Her eyes darted to his jeans before she thought, widening at the thick bulge there. When he advanced, she got her fists up, but he just reached through the punches and grabbed her throat. She went limp on her knees and hated herself for it.

“Fightin’ someone like me, ya gotta learn, frail. Most men would die in short order if ya rip their balls off ‘em. Been there, done that – they grew back. I’ve taken gunshots t’ tha dick, too – it grew back. Know what my pa taught me? If ya gotta chew yer own hand off t’ get loose from a trap … it’ll grow tha fuck back.”

His fingers squeezed and she began to choke.

“Please!” she gurgled out.

Creed threw her on the floor. She gasped and tried to roll over onto her stomach, but then he was on her, his weight pressing her into the wood. One hand squeezed her breast instead, the heavy press of his groin pushing against her crotch.

“Don’t turn yer back t’ an enemy, Tabitha; it ain’t smart.”

“Stop it, please...”

“Didn’t I say I’d touch ya if I damn well pleased? Well, didn’t I?”

“Y-yes...”

His head bent down and he sniffed at her throat. The mouth opened as his head lifted, the fangs dripping saliva onto her cheek. She froze when the tongue slid out and licked up the side of her face, barbed like sandpaper.

Rasping voice at her ear, he whispered, “Gonna do it, girl, but it can be nice or nasty.”

“It can’t be nice! Please, please don’t!”

“Nice means no claws in yer shiverin’ soft flesh. Nasty means I might forget I gotta use fer ya down tha road.” The claws retracted and his hands slid under her sweater and shirt, pushed under the cups of her bra. It left his weight nearly crushing her. “Be a good girl, Tabitha – open up fer yer Uncle Victor.”

He shifted and parted her legs with his knees, hands going down to open her jeans and his. He tugged the denim down, jerking her body up as the pants were yanked past her backside. The panties were hooked by thumbs and pulled down. His weight lifted and the hands stripped the clothing away from one of her legs, tearing the cuff of the pants leg to get it over her boot. He tossed the cloth to one side out of his way and left the other leg in the denim.

When the weight came down again, the hard and broad cock was loose and seeking. It set at her opening and paused, the heat of his breath back at her throat.

“If ya struggle, it’ll tear ya – such a li’l slip o’ a thing.”

“Wait, wait...” She cast about for anything, a way to reason with him, but her thoughts flew apart like leaves.

His rough tongue licked up her throat. “Gonna choose, frail?”

Tabitha struggled to keep her sanity intact. Tears were streaming down her face, but that just seemed to excite him more. “N-nice...” she whispered.

“Mmm … ya got it in one.”

He moved down, but not away from her. The shock of his mouth between her legs made her scream, the terror of the fangs threatening to unhinge her mind. Her legs started to thrash, tried to kick, but his arms wrapped around them, pushing her knees up. His hands gripped her thighs, the slightest tips of the claws slipping out to prick her skin.

“Be still, girl,” he murmured, lips brushing her vulnerable folds with the words. “Let it happen an’ it goes easy.”

The long tongue, thick and obscenely strong, struck her, swirled around and then entered her. His head moving slightly forward and back, his tongue began to thrust, the rasped barbs of it raking over tender flesh. The shock that it could create pleasure numbed her even as the brush of the smooth hard length of the fangs ramped her heart rate to a fevered pulse.

Tabitha’s thoughts splintered as what he was doing forced her body to respond, willing or not. No one had touched her in months and the muscles were tight and clenched. If he put himself in there without anything easing the way … she knew he hadn’t lied about tearing her.

Her body’s orgasm, its betrayal, took her breath away and then she began to sob. The rasped tongue withdrew, the tip lapping wetly at the outer folds. When he rose to press down over her body again, she realized too late why he’d put his mouth on her.

In the instant that he began to push himself inside, she knew the lubrication of her own body wasn’t going to be enough. Her hands fisted, striking his shoulders; one of them grabbed a loose mass of his hair and pulled. He growled, turned his head and nipped at her fingers with the tips of his fangs.

Tabitha felt the push of his cock shoving into her, brutalizing the muscles inside, and opened her mouth wide to scream, the sound of it echoing in her head.

*****************************************************************

Victor’s ears pinned as she continued to struggle. He had propped most of his weight off of her ribcage and chest by moving an arm, but that meant her leg could kick and flail. The movement was jarring and made his thrusts rougher.

His free hand left her breasts and batted her fists away. He grabbed the side of her neck and used it to smack her skull against the floor, dazing her. “Hold still or yer gonna get lubed up with yer own blood.”

One option was to simply knock her out and continue, but that would mean denying himself the little sounds of terror she made. The smell of her, with the taste of her pussy in his mouth, drove him close to the edge of losing control. If her blood added another layer to the heady mix, he’d end up tearing her throat out just to watch her die with his cock buried deep.

Another slight whack of her head to the floor finally made her stiffen and then go limp, all the will to fight him evaporating in terror and pain.

Victor sucked in a deep breath, trying to slow down the collecting bloodlust that lured him to tear her up. Deliberately pulling most of the way out of her, he changed his thrusts to shallow, sharp, and quick. The burn started in the pit of his stomach, stretched, and spread hot tendrils of sensation across his lower back. Resisting the urge to bury himself deep again, he kept it short and fast until the burst of violent pleasure made his breath catch. Arching his back, he let a roar shake the rafters overhead.

Withdrawing instantly, he noted only a few streaks of blood on his softening cock. He knew he’d pushed in deeper than her body had to give. Sitting back on his heels, he pulled off his t-shirt and used it to wipe himself off, tossing it on the floor. Shoving himself into his jeans and barely getting the buttonfly fastened, he got his hands under the girl’s body and hoisted her when he rose to his feet.

She struggled for only a moment, moaning, and then passed out in his arms. Letting the loose leg of her jeans flutter behind him, he carried her off out of the room and up the stairs. Opening the doors of the master suite, he dropped her down onto his bed before going to close the doors again.

Victor stripped off the rest of her clothes and the boots, dropping them all in a pile on top of the large iron chest at the foot of the bed. As an afterthought, he tore the bedding from under her and pulled it up to cover her instead. Shucking his jeans but keeping the choker around his neck, he stretched out under the covers and lifted his arms, crossing them to pillow his head.

He stared up at the vaulted ceiling through the posts of the bed and listened to the frail’s rough breathing. He knew it when she woke and smiled as he realized she was trying to assess the situation before admitting she was conscious. That was a good trick, but it didn’t work around a man like him.

“Give it up, huh?” he told her, his tone lazily casual. Glancing down and over at her, he saw her eyes open and then widen when she guessed where she was.

“Why am I here?”

“Cuz I ain’t done with ya yet.”

She curled to her side with her back to him instantly, her legs drawing up into a fetal position. The sobs were not muffled well by the hands that tried to hide her face.

With a low growl, he reached out and grabbed her shoulder to flop her onto her back again.

“Told ya once, don’t turn yer back t’ an enemy.” Shifting to his side to face her, he propped himself up on an elbow, his hand under his cheekbone. “Yer here cuz I don’t want ya t’ slip off t’ yer own bed t’ hate me in private. If yer gonna hate me, do it right here, right in my face.”

Her voice was shaking, a wreck, her face wet with tears. “Why?”

“That ain’t gonna be a one-time party, girl. Think I can keep mitts off with a piece like ya runnin’ ‘round, smellin’ like terror an’ pussy? Thing is, t’ survive this, ya gotta learn a few tricks. Fer past … favors … I’m willin’ t’ teach ya a few.”

“What... What is wrong with you … that makes you think I’ll want to learn anything from you now? Or ever?”

“Tryin’ t’ piss me off? ‘Sides, ain’t ya heard? I’m not right in tha head. Ya wanna live, ya might wanna learn.”

“After what you did –”

“Get used t’ that, frail. Fact is, more ya pump out that fear stink, more yer makin’ me wanna do it again right tha hell now.”

“– to Psylocke...”

“Oh, tha ninja bitch. Couple o’ things always bugged tha shit outta me ‘bout that whole deal.”

“Bugged the... You gutted her! You’re bugged by what, that you got her intestines under your nails?”

“Ooo, I like tha mad on ya.” His grin made her deflate fast, however. Sighing, he tried again. “What bugged me – all tha telepaths in that place an’ they didn’t catch a clue ya were desperate fer a bit o’ cold comfort? Maybe they did know, Tabitha. Maybe they knew an’ didn’t care!”

“No, they...”

“Uh, huh. Go on, try t’ justify it – ain’t no way. What’d ya do after?”

“I pulled back, away from everyone … pushed them back. I became … hard, cold to them all. I got … mean, violent in the missions.”

“Ya saw that they didn’t have yer back like ya thought they did. They expected ya t’ toe tha line, sing Cueball’s anthems, do yer job tha way they wanted it done, an’ shut yer damn hole. Ain’t that right?”

“They cared about me –”

“Lie t’ someone else, girl. Ya hear yerself? They ‘cared’, past tense. Don’t now, do they? Didn’t then. Ya were a soldier in Cueball an’ Cable’s li’l army. That’s their modus operandi, an’ I’m speakin’ from experience. They didn’t make ya a student – cardigans an’ pleated skirts – they made ya a soldier an’ used yer power in battle against their enemies. Bet they never bothered t’ say why those targets were enemies, neither. Grunts ain’t ‘sposed t’ ask why – tha brass points, tha grunt shoots. I played tin soldier enough t’ know all ‘bout that shit. Tell ya a mean truth – they’re wagin’ a war, yer fightin’ it. Big damn fuckin’ diff’rence.”

She was silent for a long time and he let his words sink in, watching her closely.

“What … were you going to teach me?”

“How t’ be hard, cold, an’ mean.”

“I don’t want –”

“How t’ survive … me first, o’ course, that’ll be handy. After that, how t’ survive whatever tha world tosses in yer teeth. Then I’ll teach ya how t’ catch it in yer teeth an’ throw it right back at ‘em.” A slight smile tugged at one corner of his lips. “How’d ya like t’ be so hard that not a fuckin’ thing can ever hurt ya again? No games, Tabitha. Ain’t that what ya wanted all along – from tha moment ya got hit with all that sacrificin’ ninja blood?”

Her teeth gritted, her anger breaking through the fear. “She was trying to save my life, to save me from my own stupidity.”

“Oh, yeah – that brings me t’ tha other bit that always bugged me. Why’d ya keep feelin’ me up, frail? Pettin’ tha kitty, bringin’ ‘im milk – can’t get more stupid, really. That ain’t a rhetorical question, neither – why’d ya do it?”

“The milk? I was trying to be kind to you –”

Growling, Victor snatched her hand under the blankets and clapped it to his growing erection, his fingers forcing hers to stoke it into a hard curve of aching hunger. Her yelp helped it along nicely.

“That! That’s what ya did, more’n once! Sure, ya didn’t have tha guts t’ pop it outta tha shorts, but still.”

“Sam was pushing me away, everything was changing... I was … lonely...”

“If ya want better lube, it’s in that nightstand drawer behind yer head.”

“I … no.”

“Suit yerself.” He let go of her hand and began to move over her, his cock striking her thigh. One hand dragged her legs apart and he settled between them.

Her hands came up to push against his chest. “Please don’t. You hurt me. It … it still hurts… ”

“Might wanna move those arms before I break ‘em.”

“Why are you doing this?”

“Cuz I’m lonely.” His spreading grin made her suck in her breath.

“Wait! Can I... Let me do something else?”

“What tha hell ya still yammerin’ on fer? Like Faster Pussycat sang it, ‘Shut up an’ fuck.”

“I can try blowing you instead.”

Victor shifted his weight slightly and stared down into her desperate shining eyes. “Try, huh? Temptin’, but … no.”

Reaching behind her, he opened the drawer himself and snagged the abused tube. He leaned on one elbow at her shoulder and opened it, reaching to coat his cock with a generous smear. With a chuckle, he wiped the excess off on her perfectly sculpted line of dark pubic hair. He snapped the cap closed right at her ear and tossed the tube back into the open drawer.

When she burst into tears again, he paused, irritated. “What tha fuck is it now? Told ya it wasn’t gonna be a one-time party. Other handy thing ‘bout a healin’ factor – I don’t get tired real easy, an’ my dick don’t need much o’ a break in between.”

She finally gulped out, “I’m not on the pill...”

“Yeah? Me neither.”

He grinned and pushed into her, ignoring her feeble attempts to fight. Solely to fuck with her head while he was at it, he slowed down and angled his body just right to make hers feel good – well aware he could no matter what her brain or morals thought about it.

Most of the time, taking his own pleasure was all that mattered and as often as that included ripping them up during the act, he hadn’t gotten into much of a habit of making it pleasurable for them. On the other hand, if it was someone he didn’t intend to kill right off the bat, he’d learned what a mess it could make in their heads if he worked on forcing their bodies to like what he did to them.

The change, the realization in her wide wet eyes, zapped the fight right out of her. It wouldn’t get him off as fast or as good as letting his claws have a taste, but spunk was spunk, wasn’t it? He’d also learned that being picky was a waste of time.

After a moment or two, he realized he was learning things about her she might not want him to know. Chuckling darkly, he caught her mouth in a kiss. In the same way her legs had almost wrapped around his hips twice, her first instinct was to respond ardently to the kiss. As if abruptly remembering to fight, she tried to struggle again, but the ripples of pleasure he gave, each one squeezing his shaft deliciously as her muscles contracted, took the strength out of her resistance more with each stroke.

He tried to catch her mouth again, but she turned her head sharply. Her hands were back on his chest, over his collarbones, the feeble pushing a joke.

“No,” she muttered.

“No, what, girl?”

“Your fangs...”

“Think I ain’t figured out how t’ do that without slicin’ ya with ‘em?”

“You like biting!”

“Yup, I do. What, ya ain’t never played trust games?”

“Not with a psychotic killer!”

“First time fer everythin’, huh?”

Because she didn’t want him to, Victor kissed her again. Her teeth clenched tight against his tongue, but once the hand not occupied with allowing her to breathe under him got to work on her breasts, he knew that resistance would soon follow the rest. Fingers, with claws retracted, pinched her erect and flushed nipples. Testing how far it took for pleasure to become pain there, he then worked them right on the edge as soon as he discovered where that was.

Her mouth opened, perhaps to scream, but he shoved his tongue in it instead. Another shift of his body, a new angle for his smooth and steady thrusts, and she actually began to respond to both his mouth and his body. He thought about warning her not to let her tongue wander around his teeth too much, but then didn’t bother – if she lost it, he’d have to listen to her bitch a lot less.

Letting her lips go, he curled his back over her, dropping his head to lick at her ear and throat.

“I can’t, I can’t … oh, God … Sabretooth, please...”

“Call me Victor, girl.”

“No!”

“Feel that? Made ya come fer me; gonna make ya do it again an’ again, frail, ‘til yer nerves’re screamin’. Pace like this, I can fuck ya fer hours. Think ya can stand that? Did ya know a person can be fucked t’ death? Harder t’ do without usin’ tha pointy bits, but I’ve managed it once or twice. Their stamina ain’t nothin’ like mine. One time, I fucked a bitch ‘til she died o’ a heart attack. Didn’t stop me none. Cold’s a whole new sorta turn on.”

“What do you want me to say?”

“Call me by my name. Say it like ya did when ya slid yer li’l hand all over me, yer brainless captive lamb, yer harmless kitten...”

“I’m so sorry I did that, it was wrong –”

“Right or wrong, I don’t give a fuck ‘bout, girl. Pheromones ya were givin’ off – if ya’d gotten down on all-fours, I woulda fucked ya then. Why’d ya think I bothered t’ grab ya when ya tried t’ sneak up tha damn mountain? I can make an’ set my own fuckin’ explosives, tha old school way. Ya made me want t’ do this – fer years, thought ‘bout it. Shit, half tha times I jacked off while I was forced t’ work with X-Factor, it was yer tits I wanted t’ splatter!”

“When you got loose –”

“When ya set me loose!”

“You tried to kill me!”

His tongue scraped over her throat again, his head turning and jaw dropping wide to allow the teeth to take a careful grip, a pair of long fangs on either side of her neck. He let the points pierce the skin, his tongue licking at the little drops of blood.

Thrusts turning more insistent, harder, he let a growl vibrate the air between her skin and his mouth. Opening wider and rearing his head back just before the urge to bite became too hard to resist, he closed his mouth and smiled at her around the protruding bottom fangs.

“‘Nother secret ‘bout me, frail – maybe not so secret; killin’ an’ fuckin’ run pretty close in my veins. Most times, I’m doin’ both at once. Now don’t ya have somethin’ t’ say t’ me?”

She almost screamed, but her fear clamped down on it, helped her swallow it. Panting, she whispered, “Victor … Victor, please don’t kill me...”

“Yeah, girl, that’s it. Ya got nails – use ‘em.”

Her eyes stared up at him in confusion, her fingers limp against his collarbones.

Victor growled again. “Ya want me t’ finish before I break yer pelvis, or after? Use yer fuckin’ nails!”

Eyes wide, her fingers stiffened and she clawed into his flesh. His growl became a hiss, the tiny pricks of pain as the blunt manicured nails scratched and tried to break skin driving him into her faster.

“You’re hurting me –”

His guttural voice snapped at her like a whip, “What was that, frail?”

“Victor … you’re hurting...”

“Ya can take it,” he answered. His head dropped to her ear again as his thrusts strained deeper, the head of his cock striking resistance over and over. “Wanna hear ya scream fer me…”

She was sobbing again, even while he felt her body constrict around his shaft in another orgasm.

“Come on, girl – gonna damage yer fuckin’ cervix in a minute. Scream!”

It tore out of her throat, a loud bray of terror right in his sensitive ear. The nails cut into his chest in the same instant and all of it sent him right over the edge. He couldn’t hear her cry over his own roar of release and when it was over, he fell on top of her for a breathless moment. Before his weight could injure her, he pushed with one hand to quickly roll off to his back beside her, the action tearing his cock from her clenching pussy in a violent move that nearly made him come twice.

She started to curl up again, but he grabbed her arm and turned her to lie against his body instead, her cheek striking his chest. Her knee started to come up to wrack him in the balls, but his growl stopped her cold.

“Just cuz they can grow back don’t mean I enjoy havin’ ‘em abused right when they’re all relaxed an’ happy. Settle, breathe … ya live t’ see ‘nother day.”

His hand lifted, the palm pressing her head down, pushing her face against the thick hair on his chest. When her mouth moved against his skin, the heat of her panting breath as she struggled to speak stretched his lips into a languid smile.

“I’d rather let you kill me than let you do that again.”

“Aw, frail, what’s tha use in posturin’? Felt ya come four times. ‘Sides, if I kill ya, I’ll do it while I’m doin’ that again, not instead o’ doin’ it.” He clicked his tongue and let a real smirk take over his mouth. “Relax, ya passed tha test – hell, so did I.”

“What … what test?”

“Ya can take me on without me havin’ t’ be too mincin’ ‘bout it. Can’t get all tha way seated, but close enough. Ya went from a dead bang, ignorin’ tha pun, t’ a good time in zero t’ sixty. Means I won’t get bored so quick, an’ that’s good news fer ya.”

“So how did you pass?”

He frowned slightly, unable to read her tone. Her scent was spiked with fear and sex, but it didn’t explain her soft, wondering question.

Irritated, but letting it go, he answered, “Proved I can fuck ya without rippin’ ya up an’ still have fun. Which is also good news fer ya, by tha by.”

Victor felt the slick of her cum and his leaking from her body, some of it slipping against his thigh where her leg had stopped its intended assault. Normally, that wouldn’t bother him, but something about the feel of her lying there, head on his chest, abruptly made his skin crawl. Frowning, he grabbed a handful of blonde curls and pulled her head up away from him with a fast jerk.

“Ow! Hey!”

“Get up, go shower off.” Releasing her hair, his palm shoved against her chest, nearly tumbling her out of the bed.

“Here? I don’t –”

“No,” he answered, “I’m sick o’ lookin’ at ya fer one night.”

She stood shakily and almost fell. When he rose, she scrambled to get away from him. Yet in spite of her terror, as he stood there growing more and more angry, all the little fool did was stare at his body.

“That seem like a smart idea t’ ya?”

Turning her head away, her slender bruised body shaking with cold, she muttered, “You’re a beast.”

“Flattery’ll get ya everywhere. Out. Got yer own shower, don’t ya? Don’t bug me ‘til I’ve had one myself.”

She’d spotted the pile of her clothing and shoes, and darted to scoop it all up. Not bothering to put a stitch of it on first, she bolted out through the double doors, leaving them swinging back inward until they ground to a slightly open gap.

Victor called through it, “Get yer ass in here.”

Brys appeared, his face pale and his scent tightening with anxiety as he opened one of the doors a little wider. “Sir, do you need –”

“Need tha bed fixed, cleaned up. Be done an’ gone by tha time I get outta my shower, or I’ll get yer blood all over it. Got it?”

“Yes, sir.”

~ ~ ~

Victor lay sprawled on the huge black suede couch in his study. He let his damp hair drip into the folded towel under his head, not caring if it damaged the leather. He’d yanked on a pair of baggy black cotton knee-length shorts with a drawstring tie. Drops of water from his choker were pooling in the hollow of his throat.

The fire in the room was lit and burning bright, but his eyes didn’t need its glow in order to read the hardcover novel that was dwarfed in his hand. The other arm was stretched out, the fingers, claws retracted, absently scratching the snow leopard’s side where she had sprawled to match him on the rug.

Huffing out an annoyed breath, he read the same paragraph for the third time. At this rate, Lieutenant Davenport was going to catch the killer without him. A subtle change in the scents from the hall outside the open doors made his nose twitch, but he didn’t look up from the page. When the cat hissed and sat up, bumping his hand away from her fur, he sighed.

“Think yer gonna sneak up on a saber-toothed fella an’ ‘is trusty leopard, frail?”

Part of her appeared in the doorway, clinging to the wall. “You said not to bug you until after a shower … it’s after.”

Closing the book around one finger, he glared at her. “Why ain’t ya sobbin’ in a corner o’ yer room, or tryin’ t’ slit a wrist or somethin’ else practical that don’t interrupt my evenin?”

“I wanted to ask you about some of the things you said before.” She was dressed in a different pair of jeans, had her boots on, and probably all of the sweaters Brys had given her – or at least two. Taking in the whole scene in the study, she became more annoying. “You … actually read and use a computer?”

“Yeah – an’ I can spell an’ everythin’. Most o’ tha time, I remember t’ let someone walk me before I piddle on tha rug.”

“I’m sorry, Cre – I mean, Victor. All I’ve ever seen is all-fangs-ahead, or … you know, in the Danger Room. I never realized you might actually read a book.”

“My image don’t make ya think o’ culture straight off, huh?”

“What is that you’re reading?”

“John Sandford,  _Rules o’ Prey_  – crime stuff, a favorite. I’ve read tha whole series, ‘cept fer tha new one, includin’ most o’ tha books on all these shelves. I love Monty Python, hate Brad Pitt, an’ I think Shakespeare sucks, ‘cept fer Macbeth. I gotta CNN addiction, an’ if left unchecked, it could kill me; politics’re sheer poison. On tha other hand, I ain’t particularly fond o’ long walks on tha beach, an’ poetry blows goats. Now what – tha hell – do ya want?”

She slunk into the room, snagged a wooden chair near the door and plunked down into it. She winced a second later, her fear scent rising at the sound of his chuckle. “I want to talk about what you said: the telepaths at Xavier’s knowing I was in trouble and not doing jack? I also want to know what you can teach me, to survive any shit the world can throw at me.”

“Ya never learned not t’ poke a sleepin’ lion, did ya?”

“You weren’t sleeping, you were reading and from the sound of it, you were annoyed with it anyway.”

“Ain’t Mr. Sandford’s fault – it’s yers.”

“Did raping me all evening ruin your concentration? Gee, I’m sorry.”

Victor huffed again, picked up the scrap of paper that was standing for a bookmark and set the book down on the coffee table next to his bottle of Glenfiddich. The snow leopard hissed at her again and disappeared behind the couch.

“Gotta death wish, frail. Move back away from tha door; let ‘er pass ya.”

She got up, hoisted her chair and carted it closer to the desk. The cat, a white blur, shot out of the room. Determined, the brassy thing moved the chair back to the doorway and sat again, facing him.

Staying stretched out where he was, he hooked the bottle with one finger. He bounced the sharp-scented cap onto the coffee table away from his book and took a long pull of the amber whiskey.

“So will you talk to me?”

Eyeing her in silence for a moment, he shrugged and drank again. Wiping his lips with the back of his hand, he said, “It’s yer nickel. Shoot.”

“Xavier, Phoenix, Psylocke, and Cable – that’s a lot of telepathic juice.” Under his frowning stare, she lifted her arms and held herself tightly. “My teammates, my boyfriend … they set up an ‘intervention’ on me when I was about to bring you milk again and … visit.”

Victor’s upper lip rose in a snarl. She stopped and watched him, afraid but still determined to give her little speech. “Spill it, frail.”

“They … they claimed it was because they cared about me. They wanted me to stop visiting you, because it was … dangerous.”

“Sucks when tha stiff shirts’re right, don’t it?” He turned his frown upside down, knowing the smile was more frightening for most people.

“I tried to explain why I was doing it, that I had to believe in the possibility that you could change and help you to have a reason to change, to have someone show you kindness for once. They didn’t even want to hear me. In a way, you were right – they wanted me to shut up, cut it out and toe the line. I know they cared about me, but they never asked me why I did it.”

“So what part’s got ya confused?”

“The telepaths – why did you say they should’ve known?”

“Didn’t say that. What I said was, maybe they knew an’ didn’t care.”

Victor slid his legs over to the floor and sat up, letting his hair fall to drip water down his back and chest. He ignored the water that had pooled at his throat as it ran down his belly. Setting the bottle down, his hands lifted to gather and twist the hair into a knot at the nape of his neck, winding the long ends around the base to keep it there without a band. A low growl thrummed in his chest at her surprised and fascinated stare. Even her fear was receding.

“Why do you think that?”

“Fer starters, I was tryin’ t’ rile ya up.”

Her voice fell to a whisper, her eyes meeting his. “Please just tell me, Victor.”

One of his eyebrows arched. “Cueball really bent his shiny head ‘round tryin’ t’ ‘fix’ me. That other skirt, tha Mississippi Marauder, they call ‘er – Rogue – I pointed out t’ ‘er once how odd it was that he was workin’ on my shit so hard, but hadn’t bothered t’ solve ‘er probs in all tha years she’d been there, kissin’ ‘is ass an’ toein’ ‘is fuckin’ lines.”

“Rogue? What does she have to do with me?”

“It’s tha same song an’ dance, frail, same dog an’ pony show. I wasn’t lettin’ ‘im use me fer ‘is lousy ‘dream’ like she was, an’ fixin’ me woulda been a big feather in ‘is cap, made ‘im tha king o’ tha bloody mind-fucker circle jerk. Same time, one o’ ‘is own’s just waitin’ fer a scrap o’ help … probly still waitin’. Did any o’ those X-chumps, not just tha junior league, ever ask ya why ya’d rather spend yer evenin’s with tha likes o’ me?”

“No, I said they didn’t. From the moment they found out, all any of them said was ‘stop it’.”

“We’ll set that wisdom aside fer a sec, shall we?” He smirked at her, pleased when she winced. “None o’ ‘em asked ya, ‘Why ya so put out, Tabitha? Why ya so blue, so lonesome?’ Not one, ‘specially that goodie-two-shoe Guthrie ya were bonin’, ever asked that shit, did they?”

“No.”

“Telepaths, ‘specially Cueball an’ ‘is bunch … they dunno how t’ keep outta other folk’s brains. Red’s got radar fer emotional diarrhea ya wouldn’t believe. Why’d they ignore all that cryin’ out fer attention ya were doin’?”

“I wasn’t after attention, not like a brat wants all eyes on her, anyway. I wanted Sam ‘goodie-two-shoes’ Guthrie’s attention.”

“Face it, ya wanted t’ get laid. Odds are, tha Brain Brigade came t’ tha same conclusion an’ decided t’ ignore ya. As fer Guthrie, I ain’t surprised he blew ya off.”

“We were in love! Or he claimed to be. I know I was...”

“Aw, cry me a river, why don’t ya?”

“I liked you better without your brains, Creed,” she snapped back.

Surprised when anger didn’t even flare, Victor grinned broadly, enjoying her sass in spite of himself. “Yeah, well, I’m still snuggly soft.” Laughing at her shocked expression, he picked up the bottle and drank again. “Look, that boy got outta ‘is booster seat an’ got t’ play with tha big dogs, didn’t he? Dream job come true, all that happy horseshit?”

“Yes...”

“Tell ya somethin’ ‘bout men, girl – regular ones, not killers like me. If they’re tha type t’ get hot after tha brass ring o’ glory, they ain’t gonna pause fer a li’l pouty-lipped frail’s battered heart. If she’s lucky, he jumps over it instead o’ steppin’ on it.”

“Why are killers like you different?”

“Well, fer starters, I prefer t’ eat li’l pouty-lipped frail’s battered hearts. Plus, my brass ring grabbin’ is a whole ‘nother kettle o’ fish, an’ not likely t’ spoil any frail’s plans fer a picket fence – or fer a quick diddle before a mission.”

She actually glared back at his smirk. “So instead of mooning over Sam and ending up risking life and limb helping you, what should I have done?”

“Found ‘is best friend an’ fucked ‘im instead.”

“I sorta did that … later on.”

“Now that’s a hoot. Did it make it all better?”

“No, it didn’t.”

“Ya got tha same prob o’ many a li’l white trash chippie before ya, girl – ya hang yer heart an’ soul on some man’s dick, expectin’ ‘im t’ make yer life worth somethin’.”

“I am not!” she flared, but he cut her off.

“Yeah, ya fuckin’ are. Learn t’ stand on yer own hind legs, why don’t ya? Ever just live yer life fer yerself, take what ya want when ya want it, an’ hang tha sense o’ wonderin’ what anybody else thinks?”

“That’s your philosophy of life, Creed, and did you notice you’re the bad guy?”

“Ya think yer a hero still, Tabitha? Ya think takin’ a contract with filth like Rothenberg would make ol’ Cueball proud? Or worse, takin’ one with me?”

“You didn’t give me a real choice. Rothenberg … he caught me at a serious low point.”

“So, yer goin’ with tha ‘Devil made me do it’ defense? That’s rich. Take a tip – own yer shit, good or bad. If ya don’t, ya just sound like a whiny bitch.”

The irritating girl fell silent, but she didn’t look whipped and her scent had almost lost the sharp tang of fear. She watched him for a moment, and then fell to blatantly studying his body, her eyes roaming over him with a thoughtful expression on her face. Frowning, he took another pull on the bottle.

“Why does my looking at you bother you? Brys said you were vain; shouldn’t you like to be looked at?”

“Maybe if ya didn’t do it like I gotta pin in my head.”

“What on earth does that mean?”

“Like a specimen in a fuckin’ bug collection.”

“Or … like a monster? A freak?”

“Try that line on tha runt, frail, not me. I love bein’ who an’ what I am. It’s tha rest o’ ya that whine an’ cry all tha time, wishin’ ya were ‘normal’. Bein’ what I am gives me power, an’ I can’t get enough o’ wallowin’ in it. I told Cueball it was freedom, but he’s too damn blind an’ stupid t’ even know what that is – too busy squashin’ it in others.”

“That’s it – Xavier was right about you. You’re so sure everyone is going to either attack or shun you, you attack first to stop them from doing it.”

Victor’s voice dropped, low and menacing. “Yer lookin’ fer a beat down, girl.”

“I used to like watching you in the Danger Room when you were still nice. All that muscle... If it weren’t for being a horrid murdering bastard, you look like you should be standing on the cover of a romance novel, ripping some hapless girl’s bodice.” She stood slowly and stepped backward to the open doorway. “I can’t ‘shun you’, Creed. You’ve proven you can do whatever the hell you want. I plan to survive this, though; I’m going to learn and grow. Thanks, by the way – you’ve given me a unique new perspective about my old friends, lovers, and teammates. I’m sick of stumbling blind through the world; I’m not going to do it anymore.” With a slight smile on her lips, she disappeared.

Victor sat still and listened until he heard her door click shut down the hall. “Fuckin’ females – useless mush brains, every one o’ ‘em.” He thought about going down there, breaking in the door and beating her until a few bones broke. “Bitch can’t give me lip if ‘er jaw’s wired shut,” he grumbled.

In the end, he remained where he was and finished off the whiskey, knowing that if he allowed himself to strike her at that moment, he was mad enough to end up killing her fast.

“Ain’t gonna be fast, frail,” he muttered, glaring at the open doorway. “Game’s on now – gonna make ya wish ya never clapped eyes on me.”

Not interested in trying to sort out why her words had made him so instantly angry, he grabbed the small black controller next to his book and pointed it at a faded painting of a French winery on the wall between two bookcases. The painting slid to one side, revealing a large and expensive plasma screen.

With a grunt, he put CNN on and threw himself back into his stretched out slouch on the wide and warm suede. Closing his eyes, he let the chattering voices wash over him and fell into dreams of slashing them all, one by one – starting with the frail down the hall.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In the canon Sabretooth limited series, "Mary Shelley Overdrive" (Nov. 2002), a character told a woman named Bonnie Hale that Victor loved Monty Python, hated Brad Pitt, and that she’d caught him more than once reading John Sandford novels. “Lieutenant Davenport” is the main protagonist cop of Mr. Sandford’s Prey series. "Mary Shelley Overdrive" is my favorite Sabey story and it influences my Sabey tales quite a bit, here and there. I highly recommend it as an excellent read. (@MET_Fic) - AnonGrimm


	4. Lessons in Blood

For so long my life's been sewn up tight inside your hold  
And it leaves me there without a place to call my own

I know now what shadows can see  
There's no point in running 'less you run with me  
It's half the distance through the open door  
Before you cut me down  
Again  
Let me introduce you to the end

And I feel the cold wind blowing beneath my wings  
It always leads me back to suffering  
But I will soar until the wind whips me down  
Leaves me beaten on unholy ground again

So tired now of paying my dues  
I start out strong but then I always lose  
It's half the distance before you leave me behind  
It's such a waste of time

'Cause my shackles  
So you won't be  
And my rapture  
So you won't believe  
And deep inside you will bleed for me

So here I slave inside of a broken dream  
Forever holding on to splitting seams  
So take your piece and leave me alone to die  
I don't need you to keep my faith alive

I know now what trouble can be  
And why it follows me so easily  
It's half the distance through the open door  
Before you shut me down  
Again  
Let me introduce you to the end

~ Shackled (Vertical Horizon)

*****************************************************************

Even with the roaring fire at her back, the kitchen was cold. Tabitha sat at the table with her face buried in her folded arms and didn’t move when Brys picked up her breakfast dishes.

She hadn’t seen Sabretooth since she left him in his study the night before. Initially, she’d been grateful to have some time to think, but now that she’d been at it awhile, she realized that she was almost more frightened by her thoughts than she was of the dire situation she’d landed in.

 _I’d love to be hatching an escape plan, but who am I kidding? He said it – I could throw bombs at him until I burned my power out; he’d just heal, hunt me down and gut me. I could find a back way out; he’d just figure it out, hunt me down and gut me. I can’t survive out there with a couple of sweaters and no transport, and he would find me before I got real far anyway. No phone, no payphones in the Yukon wilderness..._  Her head snapped up fast enough to startle the cook. “Is there a phone in the house?”

“No, I’m afraid not, miss – nothing you could have access to.”

“Don’t you have a cell phone? What if there’s an emergency – and how did Creed contact you to say he was coming out here?”

“There’s a radio and a cell phone for the estate’s use but they are only accessible via the master suite, in the main control room above it. Mr. Creed has his cell phone, of course, as well as yours – but he isn’t likely to allow you to use them.”

“Wow, you’re getting pretty free and loose with the boss’s secrets, dude.”

Brys sighed. He turned away from her and started throwing together another omelet. “His instructions were to answer your questions, even if it gave you useful information.”

Tabitha’s hopes perked up briefly and then flagged again. “Proving he isn’t the least bit worried I’ll be able to make use of any of it.”

“Miss Smith, for what it’s worth … I am sorry he hurt you.”

“It’s worth squat, Brys, and stop calling me ‘Miss Smith’ or ‘miss’ period, huh? My name is Tabitha. Where the hell is your insignificant other? I want to ask him some useful questions.”

“He’ll be back soon, I expect. He was asked to set up some equipment for Mr. Creed.”

“So ‘Tooth was serious about that handyman crack? I’d have figured he could turn a wrench or hang a picture frame himself.”

“Tooth?”

“Sabretooth – it’s his … well, I guess it’s a codename. Most people who care to know are aware of his real name, though, I think.”

“Ah, yes, of course. In his business, he uses his given name far more often. At the moment, he’s not at home; Perrin is to have the equipment ready when he returns.”

“Didn’t happen to go to Zimbabwe, did he? That might give me a running start.”

“He went hunting with his … guest, before dawn this morning.”

“Oh.” Tabitha drummed her fingers on the table in front her, her body still slumped forward. She was sore from what he’d done to her, but the really disturbing thing was how her brain kept swinging back to the pleasure laced in with the pain. Running away from those thoughts as she had all morning, she spoke again to keep them at bay. “Okay, I’ll bite – what’s the equipment for?”

“I have no idea. You can ask him when he comes in for breakfast.”

They both looked up when the kitchen door opened a short time later. The younger Frenchman entered, yawning and rolling his shoulders.

“Speak of the devil,” Tabitha quipped. “Brys says you guys are supposed to answer my questions – you game?”

Perrin accepted the plate Brys handed him and sat opposite her to eat. “Within reason, yes.”

“Hey, he didn’t put limits on it. What’s this equipment you were messing with?”

“Shackles and chains, attaching them to the wall.”

“Charming. The dungeon needed a few more, huh?”

Perrin smiled at her, but didn’t reply. Tabitha watched him eat for a few silent minutes, trying to work up the guts to ask the questions she hadn’t been wanting to think about. Fear and self-loathing were as good as a muzzle and by the time she managed to speak, Brys was picking up another empty plate.

“Your boss raped me last night – for a good chunk of the night.”

“I thought he would have done so sooner.” Before she could cuss him out, he added, “I attempted to distract him to spare you a little longer, but he has a one-track mind for some things.”

“I’ve already figured out that he plans to make a habit of it. Tell me... Tell me how you manage to live to walk away?”

Sipping the coffee the cook brought him, Perrin set the cup down and leaned back in his chair. “I have a different status here, you have to understand that.”

“Everyone’s got more status than me – hell, he treats the cat better than the people.”

Perrin smiled. “Victor isn’t fond of people in general.”

“You call him Victor?”

“Not when addressing him – unless he asks me to. I believe Brys told you that a business-like manner is the safest?”

“Yeah, sure – not that I’ve been real safe around here.”

“You have largely been defiant.”

“Don’t drag me off the topic. How do you get him to be ‘not cruel’ to you?”

“As I said, I have a different status. Victor values what we do, as it keeps him from having to be concerned about the little things of daily life. We’ve worked for him here for years and he seems to trust us now. If he were to harm us, he would only be inconveniencing himself.”

“It’d be a big inconvenience to you, too, you know.”

“He often threatens and it would never be wise to behave as if one doesn’t believe he means it – but generally he doesn’t intend to hurt us. It’s the same when he requires sex. While he tends to prefer violence and harm, he wants to keep me healthy enough to do my job.”

“Okay, but...” Tabitha gritted her teeth, took a breath, and then let it go slowly. “Is there anything I could do to make him … less brutal?”

“Obey him. Defiance, hesitation, and repulsion – these things can get you killed.”

“Can’t I … I don’t know … try to be willing?”

“Giving in to avoid harm sounds like a safe course of action, but it can backfire. Victor likes a bedmate to show fear; it gives him a sense of power. If you try to hide your fear, he may decide to do something that will dig it out of you.”

“You weren’t showing fear yesterday – petting his back before you came down the stairs? What was up with that?”

“I think Victor can relax more with a male, at least one who is weaker than he is, which is most men, of course. A man isn’t so physically delicate and a willing one who knows how to obey him without getting – attached, shall we say – will fare better in the long run.”

“Great. So to get out of this alive, I just need a sex change.”

Brys came up and joined them at the table. The two clasped hands lightly. It was obvious the topic made him uncomfortable, but Tabitha had the feeling it was due to worry for his lover’s welfare, not jealousy.

“Should we tell her about … our suspicions?” Brys asked.

Tabitha leaned her elbows on the table and rested her chin on her folded hands. “Suspicions! Sounds fascinating.”

Perrin sighed. “We don’t know much, but we suspect something happened about a month ago, before he left New York City. He’s said very little about it except one story he told me about strange men, I suppose you could say ‘freaks of nature’ – scientists pretending to be soldiers. They hunted and tried to kill him, and he couldn’t seem to kill them. Yet he talks in his sleep sometimes and he said a woman’s name more than once. When he mentioned the scientists, he said they were after a woman, and then he wouldn’t discuss it any further.”

Brys added, “Perrin got the impression that he cared for her, but lost her.”

“Killed her, you mean,” Tabitha said with a sneer.

Perrin studied her for a moment in silence. “Hard to say, and yes, he may have – but his voice when he said her name... I’ve never heard him sound like that.”

“What was the name?”

“That would not be on the list of things we’re going to share with you.” Perrin got up and carried his coffee out of the room.

“Why bring it up then?” she called after him, but he ignored her and shut the door, almost slamming it. “Well?” She turned back to the cook. “What’s the point of telling me just that much?”

“Were you ever … close to him?” Brys asked.

“Uh, yeah; rape is real up close and personal.”

“No, I meant...” He took a deep breath and tried again. “Were you ever near him in a way … well, like a couple would be?”

Tabitha opened her mouth to bitch him out as memories of the night before threatened to make her sick, but then she could almost feel again the press of Creed’s palm on her head, making her lay her cheek on his chest after pulling her against him.

“Yes. I started to roll away and he yanked me up against him instead, even made me put my head on his chest. Didn’t last long. He grabbed me by the hair and nearly tossed me out. Remember? He started yelling at you next.”

Brys looked miserably uncomfortable, but Tabitha couldn’t care at that moment. “Being close like that … I think it would be very dangerous for you to court that with him.”

“Court it? I wasn’t going courting! He made me plaster myself on him, and then he got pissed off!”

“I apologize, ah … Tabitha. It was a bad choice of words. Suffice to say, being affectionate, and a woman, could very well bring out the worst in him – if last night was any indication.”

“How many women have you seen him with? Isn’t he content with your boyfriend when he’s here?”

“First, I’ve never seen Mr. Creed ‘content’. Second, as for women, I have seen how he is with a few of them over the years –”

“Yeah? So where are they now?”

“In the oubliette.”

~ ~ ~

Her head was still swimming several hours later as she stood by one of the two windows in her room, her hand pulling the cloth out of the way without opening the curtains. The sun, lost in the forest somewhere, was setting.

Lunch and dinner had come and gone, spent with the Frenchmen in the kitchen, and Sabretooth hadn’t shown up at all throughout the day or evening.

Tabitha had largely remained silent, her questions forgotten in the rush of white noise in her brain. Plots of how to escape or bring help had begun to fade from her thoughts as hopelessness sank in and began to take hold. All she could focus on was living long enough to get to Vancouver.

 _Never been there, but it’s supposed to be big, a real city. If I can just get there, maybe I’ll find my chance..._ She startled when a knock sounded on her door, terrified that it might be Sabretooth – then she frowned.  _He wouldn’t knock, idiot._  “What is it?” she called out.

The door opened and Perrin stood there. “Mr. Creed sent me to fetch you.” When she didn’t move from the window, he added, “You don’t want him to come looking for you.”

“Where was he, and where is he now?”

“I don’t know, and he’s in the master suite, in the upper levels.”

“That’s where the radio is, and a phone, isn’t it?”

“Yes, actually – among other things. It’s not wise to keep him waiting – he’s not a patient man.”

Glaring at him, Tabitha let the curtain fall and went to the door. “Since he missed dinner, I suppose I’m on the menu?”

He didn’t answer her, but when he walked off she followed, her hands fisting at her sides.

The master suite was as sprawling as she had originally suspected, though she hadn’t had time or inclination to notice much about it before. To take her mind off of Sabretooth, she quickly looked around as Perrin led her inside.

Her eyes refusing to settle on the vast expanse of the four-poster bed, she asked, “This room’s chock-full of secret doors, isn’t it?” She gave the space a negligent wave, but her trembling fingers betrayed her fear.

“Yes. This way.”

She barely got a glimpse of other rooms down a short hall off of the front bedroom, their doors uncharacteristically open. Most of them were too dark within to even guess at their contents or purpose. Only one, the bathroom, could be studied quickly when Perrin paused at the end of the hall.

The usual plumbing suspects were there in the gloom, though the shower stall was huge and appeared to be walled in with glass. Multiple jets studded the one marble wall at the back of it. It was a modern luxury, but it couldn’t hold a candle to the black stone basin on a dais in the center of the room, twice the size of a regular Jacuzzi.

“Tabitha?”

“Is that a bathtub?”

“Yes, sort of a cross between a mini pool and a Jacuzzi. Mr. Creed is quite fond of them,” Perrin replied. “I’m told he’s had one installed in several of his homes.”

She turned and stared at him. “Several of his... How many does he own?”

“I have no idea. I’ve only heard him mention five of them, mostly by the cities they’re in if the house figures in a tale he’s telling. If one catches him in a good mood, he can be surprisingly eager to talk about past conquests and kills.”

“He ever tell you about cutting up a grab bag of X-Men?”

“No. Most of his dealings with people who wear an X involve times when his freedom was restricted – not moments he seems interested in reliving. He’s only told me of the times he bested one of you and won, even temporarily.”

Tabitha finally noticed that he was standing in front of the last room off of the hall, his hand still curled around the wall after flicking on the light. She didn’t pay the room any attention for a moment, however, after her eyes were drawn to another weird metal sculpture on the wall beyond his shoulder.

“What’s with the ugly metal art?”

He ignored the question. “This is the dressing room. We really should hurry.”

“Dressing room?”

She stepped into it after him and stared around her, stunned at the closets without doors and the shelves, all stuffed with clothes. Dressers lined one wall and there were a few large chairs with footstools. In the center of the room was a strange piece of furniture, octagonal and full of oddly sized drawers. Various objects were strewn across its dark red felt top: a gold watch, some kind of foreign coins, a pair of cufflinks – but no cell phone.

The rack of gray and black suits closest to her was full of designer labels and probably custom tailored.

 _This looks like that store Archangel went into when he and Psylocke took me shopping that one time. Armani, Versace, Hugo Boss, and a batch of others I could never even pronounce … crap!_  “Why the hell does he slum around in torn up jeans all the time?”

“He’s technically on vacation right now; these are mostly work clothes.”

“Creed kills people while wearing Armani?”

“One has to impress the occasional wealthy client. Plus, sometimes his targets lead him into unavoidable black tie events.”

“So where’s his fur-trimmed ‘union suit’? Out at the cleaners?”

His smile told her he knew exactly what she meant. “I believe that is stored at the house in Chicago. Here we are.”

The Frenchman stood in front of a trio of mirrors against the back wall. They were angled in on each other like the mirrors in Archangel’s store on Fifth Avenue. Tabitha moved to his side, shaking her head at the mental image of Sabretooth in a tuxedo.

“We look smashing. Where is the brute?”

Smiling, Perrin reached up and touched the left-hand mirror at its edge. Tabitha stepped back a pace when the central mirror slid down into the floor, revealing a stone stairway.

“He bought this place from Goldfinger, didn’t he? Or Dr. No?”

Stepping through, he offered her his hand. “Quickly, Tabitha. Remember what I told you about hesitation?”

“Yeah,” she muttered, disdaining his hand, “nothing about this would make a girl hesitate.” She moved to stand on the step below him, trying not to panic at the thought of the mirror closing behind her. “Any lights up here?”

“Not on the stairs. Mr. Creed doesn’t need them. Don’t worry; the door will stay open so that we can see.”

“Right. Don’t worry. You can be an insensitive asshole, you know that?”

“Now and then, yes.”

Tabitha counted the steps, glaring up at Perrin’s back when she realized there were thirteen of them. It was dim at the top and she couldn’t see how he opened the door there, but it slid into the floor like the mirror had.

Anxiety cramping in her guts, she stayed exactly behind him – if anything leapt out at them, she planned on it getting him first.

The room was dim and freezing cold. It had a few lit torches in sconces on the rock walls, but no fireplace. A few pieces of furniture were in the room, mostly closed cabinets that looked like antique wardrobes, and one of the strangest tables she’d ever seen in the center of the room.

It was carved here and there with odd square patterns at each corner, but the legs or base of it was the weirdest part of the thing. Practically another ugly sculpture, it held the table top up and then continued at the far end beyond the top, running right up the wall. It appeared to be bolted there. The table didn’t look like wood, either, and might be metal painted black.

She almost reached out to touch it to see what it was made of, but then drew her hand back warily. The thing looked … evil.

 _Evil furniture. Should’ve had a nap, maybe? Don’t let the ‘Addams Family’ mansion get to you, Tab._  “Okay, so what gives? Where is he?”

Tabitha turned when Perrin walked behind her. He didn’t answer until he had returned to the top of the stairs. “Will that be all?”

“What are you –” Something moved behind her and she froze. “You bastard...”

“I think we have everythin’ we need,” Sabretooth’s slaughterhouse voice answered from the blackness at the back of the room.

She wanted to scream, to curse, even to push the man down the stairs, jump over his corpse and run until the monster behind her caught and killed her – but she couldn’t move. Staring as Perrin turned his back on her and descended, tears rose in her eyes when the stone slab of door rose up to seal her in.

“Didn’t he tell ya he was bringin’ ya t’ me, frail?”

His repeated warning about not putting her back to an enemy was all that allowed her to face him, but she couldn’t see him in the dark corner. A tiny light flared, a lighter – and then she could see the long, thick fingers and horrid claws as he lit a cigarette.

Sabretooth stepped out into the flickering torchlight, but he brought a lot of the blackness with him. Slowly, her brain processed that it was only black clothing and a long black coat that dragged a foot behind him on the rock floor.

Swallowing hard, she asked, “We couldn’t have just talked in the dining room?”

“Ain’t here t’ chat – yer here t’ learn.”

“Did you know you forgot the chalkboard? I’d fire the decorator if I were you.”

“Attemptin’ bravado … cute – I can smell yer fear, girl.”

“Wh-what’s on the syllabus?”

“Gonna make ya hard – so nobody can hurt ya. Said ya were interested, didn’t ya? No time like tha present.”

His spreading grin dumped ice water into her veins. “Oh, shit...”

“Lie down on tha table, nice an’ easy like a good girl, an’ we’ll get started.”

“No fucking way, Creed.”

He took a drag on the cigarette and lifted his chin to blow the smoke over his head. The motion put his fangs on display. “Gonna try t’ burn me? Don’t advise it. Either ya get up there yerself, or I’ll put ya up there.”

“What are you going to do?”

“Teach ya.”

“Are you planning to let me survive the lesson?”

“Natch. Waste o’ time t’ teach ya if I’m just gonna kill ya, huh?” Another drag, and the smoke was blown at her. “Tell ya what – ya obey me before I finish tha cig, an’ I won’t start breakin’ fingers.”

 _Obey, obey, obey,_  she thought, her mind spinning.  _Obey and you might live. Shit!_  Stepping forward, her fingers reached out and touched the foot of the table.  _Metal, gritty paint. Oh, crap, I don’t want –_

“Ya ever smoke these things, girl?”

“When I was young and stupid.” She didn’t know what shocked her more, her insult or his laughter.

“That’s right – when ya used t’ steal yer daddy’s. I remember. They can’t do a damn thing t’ me, o’ course, an’ I prefer a fine Cuban cigar, but now an’ then... Shame is, they don’t last so long.”

Trembling, she tried to hoist herself up, but the table top was higher than her hips. To stall him, she asked the first crazy thing that entered her head. “When did you first try it?”

“Smokin’? Aw hell, that was … early in tha 1880s, round 1883 or so. I was layin’ down rail from Calgary t’ tha Yukon when I was fifteen; somewhere along there, it was. French fella, sick o’ civilization after servin’ with tha Yanks in tha Civil War – he had ‘em. He was one o’ tha few that didn’t treat me like a freak, so we got on decent.”

“You remember all that?” She yelped when his hands grasped her hips and lifted her up to sit on the table’s edge; she hadn’t heard him approach.

His hands spreading her thighs, he stepped up to stand between her knees. When she leaned back away from him, his grin flashed again. One hand rose and he sucked on the cigarette, the fire there burning down fast to the filter. Turning his head to blow the smoke to one side, he dropped the butt and crushed it under his boot.

“Why wouldn’t I remember it? Good times.”

“I-I’m used to Wolverine not remembering squat about his past. Those government programs –”

“Oh, yeah, yeah, but tha runt an’ me don’t got tha same friends, an’ mine are a helluva lot more useful. Bastard by tha name o’ Psi-Borg fixed a lot o’ that shit they did t’ me. Broke tha blocks, ripped out tha fake shit; far’s I know, he got most o’ it. Lotta stuff came seepin’ back in over time, gotta shitload o’ it all at once, too. Not fun, but better’n lettin’ tha suits make me their fuckin’ ass puppet.”

“Sabretooth – are you...”

“Am I what, girl?”

“Are you going to hurt me?”

“That a trick question? Naw, I’m kiddin’. I dunno, Tabitha – would ya rather fuck? Table’s a great height fer me.”

“No,” she whispered.

Creed lifted his hand, one shining metal claw on his index finger held in front of her face as the other fingers bent down. It moved closer to her chest and she leaned back to avoid it, until she was almost lying flat.

“Get comfy,” he told her, his upper lip showing a fang a beat before the smile stretched wide again. He stepped back and grasped her boots, pushing his palms on the soles to shove her up farther onto the table.

Trying to get away from him, she used her arms to slide up higher on the freezing metal slab.

“That’s it, lie still. Can ya reach tha edges o’ tha table?”

With the word “obey” hanging in her head, Tabitha stretched her arms out, her fingers struggling to reach the edges. “No, I can’t...”

He touched something under the foot of the table and she heard a metallic click. Before she could move her arms, bands of metal snapped out over her wrists and pinned her, two more of them catching her ankles. Her shout of surprise echoed off the rock walls before it was covered by the low, dark chuckle of the man standing at her feet.

“Coulda just man-handled ya int’ place, but tricky’s a helluva lot more fun. Didn’t think ya’d be so gullible, tell ya tha truth, but that’s tha breaks, huh?”

Tabitha couldn’t speak. She watched him move around to her side, the claw up and out again. He set it at the collar of her sweater and began to rip the threads in one long and smooth cut, the wool fibers parting like butter.

Next, he cut the shirt beneath, ignoring it when a couple of the buttons popped and went flying. His fingers peeled the clothing away from her body slowly, his glowing amber eyes watching her with an avid hunger.

Gasping as the cold rushed over exposed skin, her tears began to fall when his palm pressed against her ribs below the bra.

“Gotta safeword, girl?”

“N-no... Sabretooth, please!”

“Ain’t even done nothin’ t’ ya yet, have I? Well, no matter; I don’t listen fer safewords that good anyhow.” Meeting her widening eyes, he gave her a thin smile, the sharp white of the bottom fangs protruding obscenely from his lips in the flickering yellow light. “Here’s tha first lesson … ya listenin’? Yer body uses nerves t’ transmit pain. Pain ain’t nothin’ but a message, tellin’ ya somethin’s wrong in tha body. Trick t’ survivin’ any damn thing is t’ learn t’ ignore tha message.”

“Please don’t...”

“Shut tha fuck up. Yer gonna walk outta here on yer own damn feet unless ya piss me off. This ain’t a game, Tabitha, an’ ya asked fer this. Cry if ya gotta, but I don’t wanna hear a fuckin’ thing come outta yer mouth. When ya can take what I’m gonna do without a sound, I’ll say ya pass. Ready?”

Tabitha nodded, her vocal chords caked with terror. When one of the claw tips touched her, tapping on a rib, she felt the razor point break the skin. It was like a needle and when it tapped again, her blood began to bead up under it. She clenched her teeth, her whole body shuddering.

Creed’s voice, low and rasping, covered over her. “Remember when yer daddy first hit ya, how ya used t’ cry an’ bray. Later ya learned that just pissed ‘im off an’ he’d beat ya more, so ya started t’ learn how t’ take it, how t’ be silent when ‘is fist came down.”

The claw left her skin. Tabitha squeezed her eyes shut, ears straining for his voice. Her torso twitched when his palm slid up to cup and grope one breast over the bra.

“Daddy ever do this, girl? Huh? He ever fuck ya? Ya can answer that.”

“No,” she whispered, barely able to form the word.

“So, just this...”

She couldn’t look, but then his fist punched her in the stomach. Her eyes flew open, the restraints bruising her wrists and ankles through the sweater sleeves and jeans as her body bucked. She began to open her mouth to gasp, but saw him glaring down at her. Sucking air in through her nose instead, she sealed her lips against any cry, staring up at him in horror.

Creed leaned over her, his lips at her ear, the palm pressing into the bruise as it started to form and darken. “Remember, Tabitha – remember how ya learned t’ take it in silence. How did ya do it? Did ya think o’ somethin’ else, go t’ yer ‘happy place’? That’s a direct question. Might wanna answer those.”

Trying to swallow, to speak, she muttered, “I used to … imagine that I was … empty. A void, no bones to break, no … nothing in me he could hurt...”

All five tips of the claws poised over her bruising stomach. “That’s good, girl … real good. Yer further along’n I thought.” The claws pricked the skin and it tried to ripple away from them. With the slightest pressure, they stabbed in a little farther. “Pain’s a message, girl – don’t accept it.”

His other hand fell on her thigh, the claws there poking into the denim, but not into her flesh. The fingers squeezed and pain bloomed there, quickly morphing into agony. A scream was building in her throat, her breath huffing in her nose to keep it down, to swallow it whole. When he spoke again, his face low over her stomach, his voice became her focus, became her world.

“Here’s tha secret: ya gotta close yer body. Slip int’ that void, girl, become tha dark, become tha silence. If ya gotta become tha pain t’ do it, do that – whatever it takes. Close yer body … close yer body...”

Tabitha felt it coming over her, unsure if it was the old retreat of her mind or just her consciousness checking out. The feeling washed over her like a wave of cold and dark, and the pain of claws and crushing grip began to fade away from her senses. All that was left was the voice.

It changed slightly, but she had no name for it as it thrummed across her skin. Somewhere on the edge of herself, she knew the claws had left her. A tug moved her a little, but then it stopped.

“Tabitha… Tabitha?”

“Yes...”

“Be still. Don’t move a muscle. Be still.”

“Still...”

She felt the claws slide through something that covered her, but the void had her and she didn’t know if they tore cloth or flesh. Her eyes had closed as she hung on every word.

When one of the claws pricked her between the legs, she began to gasp, but bit it back. Then a new sensation of pressure-pain invaded as the claws, the fingers, slid inside her. From within, they pricked again, making her whole body flinch.

“Be still...”

The next time, she obeyed, sinking into the black. The voice seemed to fade, but it didn’t matter anymore. Nothing mattered anymore.

“Tabitha … come back t’ me.”

Inside, the claws snapped … retracting back?

At her ear, the voice, the breath, thrummed warm. “Tabitha... Ya just impressed tha hell outta me, girl.” A low rumble, then words. “Time fer a reward, huh? Ya can make noise now if ya want – but I’ll try not t’ take it personal if yer too stoned fer that yet.”

The fingers moved, bent and crooked, and pleasure bloomed where pain had been, burning away the memory of hurt in bleeding flesh. The warm breath left her ear and throat, the fingers shifting, and then something hot and wet touched her. It licked and entered her as the fingers withdrew.

Pushing up out of the dark, obeying the voice, she opened her eyes to see a spill of golden hair on her stomach. Inch by inch, the wet muscle pushed into her and she grasped for what it was, what he was doing.

 _His tongue..._  She tried to yank herself back to her senses but her body was betraying her again as waves of heat washed up her stomach and crept down her trembling legs. A dry tongue failed to wet dry lips. “Sabretooth … how…?”

Creed didn’t answer until her moan filled the room. Her hips bucked more than once as his tongue stroked the convulsing muscles inside her, licking her slick juices. His lips sucked at her folds as the tongue withdrew into his mouth, and then its tip slipped out again to lick the wet cum sheen off of her glistening flesh.

“How, what?” he answered, his voice roughened by lust. “How’d I get so fuckin’ talented? Been doin’ it fer a hundred plus years, girl; with enough practice, even a brute like me gets it figured out eventually.”

Tabitha couldn’t think. She felt like her body was melting. It twitched when the hard braces on her wrists and ankles snapped open, but she remained lying still, dazed and almost drugged.

“What did you do to me … how did you do that?”

“Which part?” When she couldn’t answer, he chuckled. “Think it might be my turn, girl.”

He grasped her ankles and jerked her down until her legs were dangling off of the table, knees bent. The pressure of the edge of the metal slab on the backs of her thighs made her wince, but she was still too drunk on what he’d done to protest.

“I ain’t a Boy Scout, huh? Can’t say I ain’t always prepared.”

Tabitha heard sounds, a thunk of wood, a clink of metal, but none of it registered. Her eyes closed again and she couldn’t care if the table was cutting off her circulation or not.

Eyes flying open, she shouted out in shock when his cock entered her. She started to rise, but his palm pushed her down, the fingers flexed back to keep the claws out of her bleeding stomach.

He’d found a lot of something to slick it up with, but the sheer size of him, hard and hungry, stretched her and scraped.

Frowning, he grabbed her up, yanking her forward until her backside was barely on the table. Pinning her against his wool coat, he angled his hips and thrust up into her.

She opened her mouth to scream, but all her throat gave her was a deep groan as the heat from before, from his tongue, doubled and then began to build again. His hands were on her hips then, his strength lifting her body and dropping it down onto his cock even as his legs thrust up, driving it into each drop.

Tabitha was tightening her grip on bunches of black wool at his shoulders before she realized she had been clinging to him. His head curled over hers and when she opened her mouth to suck in air, she tasted the silken strands of his hair as it covered her face like a curtain.

The voice sent a chill of hot breath down her ear. Unable to form words, it purred and growled, spiking her pulse with every lift of the hands, every thrust. She lost count of the times he made her come and when the fingers curled around her hips tighter and the claws bit, the pain only made it happen again.

Creed’s head dropped to her shoulder, his mouth nuzzling her neck. It opened wide, the fangs settling on flesh, the points starting to break skin as her fear slammed through her.

All at once, the guttural sounds he made against her throat terrified and chilled her but ramped her heat up again with each chuffing huff. Piercing, going deeper, the fangs drew blood and she gulped in a deep breath, afraid it could be the last.

“Cre-Victor... Victor!”

Her mind started to numb again, the fresh lesson blending with old horrors. Pushing it back, knowing he was about to bite deeper, she shoved her fingers into his hair. Instinct tried to make her yank it, to jerk his head up, but she knew she couldn’t make him move and that it might make him bite down. Slowly, insanely, her fingers began to caress, to stroke, just like she’d done to Sam’s blonde cropped mop for years.

Forcing her voice to be soft, if trembling, she spoke his given name again. “Victor, Victor … come back to me. You feel so good, Victor. Careful … Victor, please be … careful...”

Tabitha clenched her teeth and swallowed her scream when she felt him shudder, felt him begin to come. The fangs bit harder for a fraction of a second, and then he reared his head back, the lethal spikes sliding free without slashing. His roar caught in his throat, nearly choking him.

When his body pitched forward, she splayed her thighs as wide as she could and let his chest press her down. Afraid his weight could injure her hips, she lifted her legs and wrapped them around him tight.

Creed’s hands left her hips to smack into the table on either side of her, the claws rending deep scratches when they moved.

Refusing to cry out, terrified it would drive him further into the shocking savagery that seemed to have overwhelmed him, she slung her arms around his neck and bit into the collar of his coat.

_Can’t think, don’t move, oh, God, oh God... Don’t move, don’t scream!_

Time stretched and her muscles began to cramp. She felt his palm on her back first, and then his body straightened, pulling hers up with him. The hands moved, gripped her hips, smearing in her blood.

She hissed, unable to stifle it, when his hands pushed her pelvis back, allowing her to sit solidly on her backside again. She wasn’t sure he’d regained his mind until the low chuckle sounded in her ear.

“Bit clingy fer my taste, girl. I’d rather not wear ya all day.”

Making aching muscles obey, she let go of his collar, neck, and hips, her limbs trembling with more than cold. His body was warm and losing that in the freezing room made her teeth start to chatter.

When he began to step back, she almost closed her eyes, but then she forced herself to watch his spent cock slip out of her body. To her surprise, it was uncut – a fact she hadn’t noticed when he’d forced her. Large hands quick and efficient, he stuffed it back into his slacks, heedless of the mess, and pulled the leather belt tight.

Puffing out a breath, he swept the coat off of his shoulders and swirled it up to settle it around her back. Without hesitation, she shoved her arms into the sleeves and hauled it around her.

Creed came forward again and Tabitha struggled to remain still. Lifting a hand up, his thumb and index finger gripped her chin with a surprisingly gentle touch. Using that grip to turn her head, he seemed to be inspecting the bite marks on her throat. The feel of blood dripping down her skin made her shudder again.

“Those boys tell ya t’ do that?”

“To do what?” she whispered.

“Sweet-talk tha beast.”

“N-no... I’m sorry if I, I mean... They said that would be a … bad idea, um … to show affection?”

“Yeah, well, they’re right.”

“But you were going to –”

“Think I dunno that?” he shouted. Releasing her face, he retreated from the table and began to pace, claws running up and down the sides of his thighs, threatening to shred the cloth.

“I’m sorry –”

“It ain’t amnesia, frail, got it? How’d ya think I knew all yer dirty li’l secrets? Tha beast in me knows what he’s doin’, what he’s hearin’ – he’s just not that good at processin’ it ‘til I get back in tha driver’s seat! Talkin’ ain’t ‘is language, but we do share a brain!”

Huddling in his coat, immersed in the musky smell of him from it, she winced and bit her lip, looking down away from his glaring amber eyes. “I don’t want to die,” she murmured.

“Hop down offa that.”

She started to obey, but hesitated, knowing she’d fall. “I’m – I can’t; my legs are all rubbery.”

He came at her fast, in three long strides, but didn’t strike her. His hands picked her up under her arms and set her on her feet.

Discovering for himself that she couldn’t stand on her own, he knocked her legs out from under her with his arm and lifted her bodily, his coat trailing behind them as he turned toward the door. Stabbing one finger against something on the wall, she watched in a daze as the barrier slid down and revealed the stone steps. Below, the mirror back was opening, too, the electric lights from the dressing room flooding the bottom steps.

Creed carried her down and out. She winced and turned her head when he opened his mouth, prepared for the yell that time. “Perrin!”

The Frenchman appeared as if conjured. “Bath? It’s ready.”

“Bring up some o’ yer bandage shit an’ some o’ my booze. Whiskey.”

“Yes, Mr. Creed.”

Tabitha didn’t know what was happening, exactly, but it was happening entirely too fast. Creed carried her to the vast bathroom, the lights revealing it to be floored and paneled in black marble. She was set down, somewhat gently, on the steps of the dais.

His hands were less gentle when he yanked off her boots, his claws slicing right through the laces. Her clothes were in shreds, a fact she had barely noticed. She dimly remembered him slicing the sweater and shirt open, but tearing out the crotch of the jeans was a missing detail.

She started to limply struggle a little when she realized he was stripping her outright, but he almost didn’t notice her feeble efforts. She was still sitting on his coat, but he’d gotten her arms out of the sleeves.

Creed stood, leaving her leaning against the steps. When his hands reached behind his head to pull off the black t-shirt, Tabitha let her eyes roam over him at will. With the amount of places that were bleeding on her body, she decided he couldn’t hurt her much more for looking at him.

He’d already kicked off his boots. He saw her watching when he dropped his pants, but didn’t seem to care past a grunt. Realizing he wasn’t wearing any underwear at all, she abruptly smirked.

It was wiped away by a yelp when he picked her up off of the coat and hoisted her once more. Half afraid he planned to drown her, she struggled a bit again when he stepped down into the warm bath.

“Be still,” he commanded, his voice rough and probably angry.

The words, so like a part of the strange hypnotic spell he’d put her in, made her thoughts separate, her body go limp.

His overt care in sitting in one of the marble seats inside the tub, with her on his lap, surprised her. He turned her to put her back against his chest and as she went still, he stretched his body out with a sigh.

Tabitha leaned back against him, her mind in a drugged swirl.  _I’m alive..._

*****************************************************************

The water was warm, not hot. Perrin had been instructed to make it a temperature the frail could handle, so it was going to cool far too fast for his liking. Glaring at the ceiling, he didn’t bother to pick his head up when Brys arrived to help care for the girl.

“Ah, sir, may we … have her?”

“She’s all yers.”

He closed his eyes as Perrin reached for her and the two men picked her up out of the bathing tub. They managed the extraction without letting her feet kick him anywhere tender, at least.

“Stay in here,” he barked at them. “Set ‘er on tha divan.”

Eventually, he lifted his head and moved to the other side of the tub, folding his arms on the edge and resting his chin on them. Watching them work, he was silent.

Since Perrin was the one getting clawed up here and there, Brys had become the first aid expert. They laid her out on thick towels on the divan and the boy held the bowl of warm water so that Brys could clean her wounds.

None of it was much worse than he gave the boy on a bi-annual schedule, but the amount of cuts, punctures, and bruises seemed to upset the elder Frenchman.

“Here,” Brys said, “Press that there. We have to stop the bleeding. The hips and neck are the worst.”

The girl, on the other hand, was acting as if she was the one sucking on a whiskey bottle steadily for the last ten minutes. Most of the time, her eyes were closed, but when they opened, she didn’t seem to care about the men or their touch and ministrations – she would stare back at Victor.

It shouldn’t bother him and he could always make her look away first, but something haunted the big blue eyes under blonde curls – or maybe it was just him.

 _Fuckin’ stupid bringin’ ‘er here. Ain’t even been a month since..._  He growled, the sound making all of them pause. Sloshing over to the far side of the tub again, he took up his original lounging stretched-out pose. Laying his head back, he closed his eyes and listened to them, letting their mixed and shifting scents wash over him.

The acrid stench of the medical soap made him snarl, tugging shards of foggy memories out of Victor’s murkier depths.

Psi-Borg had fixed most of the oldest stuff and a lot of the middle-ground stuff, but all of the shit this or that government or megalomaniac had done to him since then was free to rattle around in his head: remembered, repressed, or forgotten.

A clean smell of bandages followed the sharp tang of antibiotic ointment, but those didn’t make his skin crawl – no scientist or power mad quack had ever seen the need to use bandages on him.

Lifting the bottle of Glenfiddich to his lips again, he drank it down to half gone. For one profound minute, he wished he was capable of getting drunk.

“Thank you,” the girl told them. “Will you help me up?”

“He, ah, wanted you to stay here –”

“I want to sit on the dais steps.”

“Tabitha...”

Perrin interrupted him. “Come on, I’ll help you walk. That pain pill should kick in soon.”

“Can I have the coat, too? Thanks.”

They moved her, bringing her scent closer. Theirs receded.

“We’ll be just down the hall if either of you want or need … anything,” Brys said.

Silence … except that he could hear her heart beating against her ribs and the softer sound of her palm sliding over the sleek wool of his black coat. They’d wrapped her in a bathrobe, one of his, and she had the coat folded partly under her and then pulled up and draped across her lap. The layers of black cloth, wool and cotton, smelled like him, making her scent blend with his … again.

“Victor?”

Without moving, he let another low growl rumble through his chest. “Changed my mind ‘bout that, frail – Creed’ll do just fine.”

“I’m not going to apologize for anything.”

“Technically, ya already did. Twice.”

“I certainly don’t expect to hear one from you.”

“Smart gal.”

“What did you do to me?”

“Fucked ya.” Her sigh should have angered him, but he couldn’t muster the give-a-shit. “Shoulda bit yer damn throat out instead.”

“It was almost … hypnotic.”

“That’s a new way t’ describe my prowess.”

“You know what I mean. I’m just curious. Most of these cuts … I didn’t feel them, even if I knew they were … happening. Those things you said... Please, I just want to understand.”

Victor huffed, and then sat up. Holding the bottle half in the water to rest it on his thigh, he glared at her. “It ain’t Voodoo, girl. ‘Sides, what I tapped in ya was already there; Daddy musta worked ya over good, fer a fuckin’ long time, too.”

“He was like that most of my life, worse when he found out I was a mutant.”

“What I was gonna teach ya, yer void trick, that was it. Ya already know how t’ do it.”

“It was like being drunk, though.”

“I wouldn’t have a ref’rence fer that.”

“If it’s supposed to help someone survive, how can it really work if I can’t think or do … much of anything … when it’s happening? It seems a person would be … well, helpless, in that condition.”

“It ain’t a state o’ mind fer fightin’ t’ tha death in, frail. It’s survival. It’s how t’ live when yer gettin’ kicked in tha teeth. Don’t let it touch yer core, don’t let it in ya, an’ it can’t break yer spirit. That way, when they quit kickin’, thinkin’ yer beat, ya rise up an’ show ‘em diff’rent.”

“Like the X-Men?”

“Don’t flatter yer idiot babysitters. Those white hats ain’t never had me on tha ropes enough t’ put me down like that. Red came close,” he admitted, frowning at the memory, “but she let up right when she coulda gotten nasty.”

“Wolverine with a claw lobotomy probably counts.”

“I asked ‘im t’ do that – threatened ‘im ‘til he couldn’t stop ‘isself. Runt’s tha only one o’ ‘em with an ounce o’ guts, or a pound o’ mean – but it didn’t keep me down, did it? Not with yer kind, considerate help – nursin’ me all genteel-like outta tha kindness o’ yer … heart.”

She was stubborn, refusing to let him bait her. Also, she shied away from that part of their past, as he assumed she would. Yet her pulse had just quickened – it seemed something he’d said had either excited or alarmed her.

“You wanted him to stab you in the brain? Did you think it could kill you?”

“Ain’t nothin’ they’ve found can kill me.”

“That’s not what I asked. Did you think –?”

“How long ya think yer gonna be breathin’ if ya keep pesterin’ me ‘bout this shit?”

That shut her up, but her questions brought a lot of flotsam up from the depths, most of it poked and picked over by Cueball and later by the government psychiatrist, Dr. Valerie Cooper.

Mystified about why he cared to continue talking at all, he grumbled, “Had a lotta shit goin’ on in my head then. Hell, coulda been what Psi-Borg did that kicked it off. Madness it was, pure blood hunger – couldn’t think, couldn’t function. Tha beast had me by tha throat an’ tha balls at once most days. Needed tha glow t’ fix it, like what Birdy used t’ give me – pure hit o’ telepathic juice. With tha glow, it got healed over fer a bit … t’ lemme think, lemme … be.”

“What you said about liking being you – it wasn’t letting you, was it? Didn’t Birdy get killed?”

“Yeah, an’ not by me. Oh, she woulda been, probly, eventually. My own dear darlin’ baby boy offed her: Graydon Creed. After that, when yer white hats got me … life wasn’t a bowl o’ fuckin’ cherries no more. Snappin’ tha runt’s precious control seemed like tha best option.”

“He said you broke out of the force field on the door, but didn’t get very far.”

“Cuz he was standin’ there, breathin’ down my neck! Didn’t really mean t’ run, though. Not any farther’n killin’ ‘is friends so he’d throw down with me, anyhow. Turns out, ‘is bleedin’ claw cured me, gave me a handy defense against tha Brain Brigade, too. I fuckin’ love irony. Sure, it took a while t’ land on my feet, but I always do.”

“So the lesson is to close yourself when you are … down and being hurt. Then you get up and fight back when you can?”

“That’s tha idea. Ain’t just fer gettin’ beat down, though – how I got outta that cage an’ later, how I beat X-Factor’s inhibitor collar, was by gettin’ my body used t’ tha pain they were usin’ t’ control me.”

“By not accepting the message, because you already know what the problem is and you know you have to … ignore it to survive. Okay, I can do that.”

Victor chuckled. “Makin’ it sound mighty easy, ain’t ya? Advanced part o’ that lesson is t’ not need yer void at all. I didn’t beat that fuckin’ collar by goin’ t’ my happy place. I bulled through tha pain, let it burn me good an’ learned how t’ condition myself ‘til I could do it an’ stay conscious on tha other side.”

The girl tried to hide her surprise, but her face had gone pale. “Maybe I’ll stick with the beginner stuff to start out with. What’s next?”

“Still game, huh? I’m impressed. Ya got way too much white hat in ya, though; lesson two, ya’d flunk big time.”

“Should I wait to heal first?” she asked, her tone a challenge.

“Doesn’t involve ya gettin’ whacked – that’s where ya learn t’ get payback on someone who’s been whackin’ ya – dash o’ turn-‘bout’s-fair-play.”

“You’d heal up fast and I bet I wouldn’t mind hurting you.”

“Do tell.”

“Can I have some of that?”

Smirking, he moved to the front of the tub and handed her the bottle. “Rest up, girl. We’ll chat ‘bout lesson two in tha mornin’.”

“Wow, that’s … intense.” She gave the bottle back with trembling fingers.

“Odds are, tha boy’s happy pill’s been carvin’ its way through yer bloodstream. Ain’t fair t’ blame tha Scots fer that.”

“Scots?”

“Tha single malt, frail.”

Her heart-shaped face melted into a smile that proved the drug was kicking in. “It’s not fair that you’re handsome,” she told him, her words slurred. “Evil is supposed to be ugly … you know, humpbacked – with a limp...”

Victor watched as she began to slump, his frown morphing into a smirk when she went limp and collapsed on the stairs. He made no effort to prevent her head from striking the marble step when she passed out.

He let out a shrill whistle to call the servants in. “Cart ‘er back t’ ‘er room. I don’t wanna see ‘er ‘til after breakfast, which I plan t’ spend with my guest. Need any more meat in tha freezer?”

“Elk would be nice, if you happen across one,” Brys answered, “or another caribou, sir.”

They began hoisting the girl up between them. When Brys got her into his arms, Perrin picked up the long coat. Catching his eye, Victor crooked a finger at him to bring him closer.

“Get back here when yer done with ‘er, boy – I wanna lot more hot water an’ some comp’ny that don’t yap so fuckin’ much.”

“I’ll only be a moment, Mr. Creed,” Perrin replied. His smile was pleased, and the sweeping glance the boy gave him was heating his blood already.

 _Might need a good hunt before lesson two,_ he thought.  _Just in case tha skirt actually grows a pair._

~ ~ ~

In the twilight hour before dawn, fresh snow was falling over the Selwyn Mountains. Victor crouched on a slanting outcropping of stone downwind from an elk with an impressive rack and an unfortunate limp in one foreleg. The injury had drawn the short straw for the animal and the predators were closing in to assure that only the fittest would survive.

Somewhere up the slope, the snow leopard was letting the prey catch her scent. Soon, she would show herself in order to flush the animal away from her – and straight into a waiting ambush. At the moment, Victor had lost her in the winter landscape, only her scent on the wind telling him where she was lurking.

His muscles were taut and ready, the hiss of falling snow ignored as he watched the elk grow nervous. Ice on the stone beneath his nude body, freezing wind flowing over him, these things barely registered as he settled into the near mindless focus of predator seeking prey.

The cat moved, making a short lunge at the elk. She leapt back to avoid a kick, and then lunged again to drive it down the slope.

It turned and ran, heading right for him. Victor lifted his body up an inch higher, drew in and held a breath, and then jumped.

He landed on its back as it launched by his ambush point, his arms wrapping around the thick neck. The animal tried to shake him off and he let the movement slide him over until he swung down like a lead weight on its neck. Dropping his jaw, he opened his mouth wide and jerked his head down and in, the fangs catching and slashing the throat. Getting a good solid hold, the jaw began to close, the power of his bite force severing the windpipe with the carotid and jugular as his weight dragged it down. Teeth closed tight, he tore them out of its throat with a grunt.

Victor slammed his fist into the elk’s shoulder and twisted his body to avoid being pinned under it when it toppled. Snow exploded under them when the animal dropped to its side. The moment his clawed foot struck the ground, he pushed off with it to land on the prey, using his weight to keep it down.

The snow leopard bounded down to them and leaped onto the elk’s hind quarters, her claws digging in as she stayed clear of the legs. With the carotid severed, their prey had already fallen still and silent.

Victor licked at the blood on his chin, exhilarated by the hunt. He was covered with a wide spray of it, but hardly noticed in the heated rush of the kill. Growling with pleasure, he butted heads with the leopard, rubbing his face in her fur as she came up to greet him.

As they had done before, she waited until he used his claws to cut the hide off of the carcass. He didn’t bother with a precise taxidermy-quality effort, but it would make a good bundle for carting meat back home, as well as a welcome addition to the warm fur collection.

Once the fur was dropped in a pile to one side, he gutted the animal and let the mess slip down the snowy slope. There were plenty of other creatures who would benefit from their leftovers later, but for now, both hunters settled down to tear and shear meat with fangs and claws.

Leaving the hind quarters to the busy chuffing attention of the cat, Victor reached into the opening he’d torn and yanked out the rich organ meat. It would be more than enough to satiate his hunger, and then he’d start carving out other portions for the freezer.

Before they left the remains of their kill to scavengers, Victor grabbed the antlers at their base and used them to break the animal’s neck, pulling the head back. Claws and brute strength cut and tore the head free. Being a gentleman, he tore off one of the forelegs, too, for the leopard to snack on later.

With an antler and hoof in one hand and the meat bundled in the bloody hide in the other, he started off up the mountainside just as the sun was beginning to brighten the forest. As the light rose over the treetops, the snowfall ceased, leaving the world in a crisp white silence. Beside him, the cat padded along, quiet and content.

He returned to the rock passage they’d emerged from and smiled when his guest’s fangs tugged at the dangling foreleg. Dropping the hoof, he let it fall. She chuffed at him and headed off over the snow, dragging the meat between her front legs.

For a moment, he wished he could just cache some meat in a crevice in the mountains somewhere and loaf about in the snow all day – but he had a skirt to train. Lugging his kill, he entered the passage and followed its winding way back to the secret gate that connected it to the house.

Reaching the kitchen, he was amused to find the skirt still sitting with the servants after breakfast. Even better was her shock at seeing him arrive nude, smeared with blood from nose to toes, carrying only some of the larger hunks of an elk.

The Frenchmen jumped up to help, used to his habits by now, but the girl just sat and stared. He handed his kill over to them.

“Gonna have a shower,” he told her, as he started unraveling his long, thick braid. “Then we’ll head down t’ tha dungeon fer yer next lesson. Meet me at tha foot o’ tha grand staircase in an hour.”

She didn’t say a word in reply, but managed a nod. Grinning, Victor walked out, leaving bloody footprints in his wake.

~ ~ ~

“It’s covered, quit yer whinin’,” Victor told her as they descended the dungeon stairs to the chamber that housed the oubliette.

The girl stared at the thick metal cover the entire way through until she almost fell down the next set of stairs. Arms flailing to catch her balance, her hands struck his arm and back, fingers curling around his bicep.

He paused on the step to let her regain her balance and when her hands left him, the one pressed to his back almost petted the blonde fur there.

“If ya wanna pet me, just say so – don’t need t’ pretend t’ be fallin’ on yer ass t’ get yer strokes in.” He glanced over his shoulder and smirked at her huffed glare.

“How many people are in that disgusting hole?”

“Ain’t never bothered t’ count ‘em; it’d be tough now, what with tha way they tend t’ fall t’ bits. If yer bored later, feel free t’ take a crack at it.”

“Is being psychotic a full-time job for you, Creed?”

“That’s a condition, not employment. Killin’ folks is my full-time gig.”

“Who’s paying you to destroy this plant in Vancouver? What are they making there that’s so bad?”

“Didn’t ask so many questions, took their word fer it bein’ bad, don’t really care. Client’s a group o’ tree-huggers; that’s why they want it toppled without killin’ tha workers. I ain’t complainin’ – waitin’ fer their ‘right moment’ is givin’ me a bit o’ relax time. Or it would be, if I weren’t wastin’ my vacation teachin’ ya shit those X-chumps shoulda covered by now.”

“I’ve learned a lot since we ‘met’ last; Pete Wisdom was leading X-Force for a while and he taught me more than Cable ever did.”

“So how is ol’ Petey these days?”

“I’ve lost track. I suppose you’re going to tell me the two of you were buddies? His bad boy image wasn’t an act, huh?”

“Wouldn’t say buddies, by a long shot. Chewed on ‘im once is all. As jobs go, he kept it from gettin’ borin’.”

“Boy, that was vague. He taught me how to make my bombs into bullets, how to kick ass like a ninja, and a lot of other nifty spy shit, with computers and such.”

“Ya don’t say.”

“What?” she asked, irritation riding her tone.

Reaching the bottom of the dungeon stairs, Victor walked ahead of her and then turned, a sly smile tugging at his lips. “Not tha best idea t’ show yer hand like that, frail. We ain’t buddies, neither, ya know.”

“I already showed you the changes in what I can do with my bombs, not to mention some of my less than effective martial arts moves on a brute like you.”

“Didn’t know ya could hack, did I? Good thing my systems’re iron-tight an’ booby-trapped, huh?” When the girl grabbed her wrist reflexively, Victor laughed. “Already tried it an’ got shocked, right? What, before breakfast? Thought I smelled a bit o’ scorch on ya.”

“You are a bastard.”

“Yup.”

“So why are we down here?” She held herself and shivered in the chilled air. The sweater she was wearing was one of the boy’s. They’d found new laces for her boots, too.

Victor walked over to the wall just at the edge of the torchlight, passing five cells like the one he’d originally put her in. She was ignoring her usual curious nature to keep her eyes on him – showing she had a working brain that morning, at least.

Putting his back to the wall, Victor lifted his hands and batted the heavy and unusually shiny shackles that swung on their short chains on either side of his head. Casually, he set his ankles into the bottom shackles, but didn’t bend to fasten them.

“This is why; figured ya’d be more comfortable if I wasn’t loose an’ breathin’ down yer neck.”

“‘Comfortable’ isn’t a word that comes to mind with you around.” She eyed the restraints warily. “That’s supposed to hold you?”

“Made o’ adamantium, girl. Had tha boy put ‘em up tha other day just fer yer lesson.” Smiling at her, trying to make it nice and friendly-like, he added, “If ya’d care t’ close ‘em up an’ turn tha locks, we can get goin’.”

The girl seemed to be considering the idea from all angles, as though trying to sort out if it was smarter to restrain the hands first, or the feet. He chuckled when she moved to his left wrist, but remained perfectly still.

She had to get close, had to stretch to reach the shackle and close it. Turning the ornate key that hung in the keyhole, she stepped directly across his body to reach the other wrist instead of stepping back first.

Victor sucked in a slow breath, audibly drawing in her scent. She flinched and he grinned, but she got the key turned in that shackle as fast as she could. Without looking up at him, she dropped to one knee and pushed his jeans cuff up to close the restraint around the right ankle.

Again, she moved across him directly without moving back, ending up on both knees to fasten the last shackle under his jeans.

“Mmm, ya look damn good on yer knees, girl. If ya wanna go back t’ that pettin’, be my guest.”

The expression on her face and in those large blue eyes when she glanced up was caught between anger, fear, and that ballsy curiosity. It was the same as the night she’d first snuck into the Danger Room, a breath before her hands had touched him.

“That won’t hold you,” she whispered. “I’m not that stupid.”

“Debatable, but we’ll see. Fer now, let’s say I’m lettin’ ya have tha upper hand – fer tha sake o’ yer … education.” He smiled when she tucked the key into the front pocket of her jeans.

To his delight, she remained on her knees and asked, “What am I doing with you now that I’ve theoretically ‘got you’?”

“On tha floor, just behind my right foot – there’s a buck knife; good solid Vietnam Era model 119 from 1962 – nothin’ better fer people who ain’t got claws.”

The scrape of the blade on the rock as she grasped the black handle made all the hackles on his body start to rise. Instinct had to be pushed down, the flutters of it in his gut ignored. He watched as she lifted it, met her gaze when she looked up again.

When she rose, she was only five inches from his body, the thick fixed-blade knife held firmly in her hand. The eyes darkened and he knew she was wondering how badly she could damage him before he healed.

“Do it, an’ find out.”

“Wh-where?”

“I don’t make this offer t’ many, frail – put it wherever ya want.”

Suspicion tugged at her lowering brows. “This doesn’t get you off, does it?”

“Try it an’ see.” Her morality, the whitest of hats in her abruptly brimming eyes, made her hesitate. “Ya know I’ll heal. Do it.”

The tip of the 5 7/8 inch blade touched his skin, angled at the line between the oblique and the abdominals on the right. Still, she hesitated. Gritting his teeth against a growl, he lurched his hips forward, stretching out the six-inch chains. The speed of it sent the blade into the muscle cleanly, if only an inch or two.

“Hoo, yeah! There, I got it started fer ya.” He watched her stare at the welling blood as it began to drip down onto the worn and fraying waistband of his jeans. “Thought ya wanted t’ hurt me, Tabitha. Now’s yer chance. Wait, look, leave tha blade in. See that?”

She seemed pinned by both fascination and horror as she saw the flesh try to heal around the blade. Yanking it out, she gasped as she witnessed it knit together until the muscle and skin were smooth and unblemished once more.

“What does that … feel like?”

“Ya ever have yer foot go t’ sleep on ya, then it tingles when ya move it? Almost hurts, but not quite?” At her nod, he added, “Sorta like that. It’s a buzzin’ sensation, with heat. It closin’ over shit’s a bitch when it’s bullets – wound heals right over ‘em, gotta dig ‘em out later, one by one.”

The girl shuddered at his words, yet she stood closer as soon as he sagged back against the wall again. Lifting the knife, she used just the tip and ran a long scratch from under his nipple all the way down to the jeans. It was so light, it didn’t even draw blood.

“Now that just tickles. Try again; put some elbow grease int’ it.”

“But I’ll –”

“What, ‘hurt’ me? That’s tha idea, ain’t it? Don’t tell me I gotta start dirty talkin’ ya, girl.”

She lifted the blade to the same place again, managed to punch the tip into the flesh and started to draw it along the scratch she’d made. Blood seeped and then spilled as she went, dripping onto her fingers. Halfway down, she gave a little cry and pulled it free.

“I don’t think I can do this. I’m … I’m not like this.”

“Already stitched. All better. Given ya plenty o’ reasons t’ wanna do it; ya gonna tell me it ain’t been enough?”

Meeting his gaze, she didn’t seem to notice that her free hand had risen to press against his stomach. “What is the point of this? I can’t stand here and cut you up with you quietly just … just … taking it.”

“Would ya rather open these cuffs an’ have me chase ya ‘round tha dungeon? See if ya can stab me when I’m comin’ at ya?”

“While that might help, I’d rather not. You seem to get – sidetracked – easily.”

Victor smiled down at her and let the purr in his gut come up into his throat. “Oh, I’m already sidetracked, girl. ‘Sides, if ya can’t at least get one good stab in, this is goin’ down as a flunk.”

“Weren’t you ever sickened by all the violence – even when you were a boy?”

“Told ya I was layin’ down rail at fifteen? ‘Nother man, hundred pounds heavier’n me, was bustin’ me fer days fer no damn reason – probly just fer how I looked. Found me in a bar after hours, had a broken bottle in ‘is hand. I gutted ‘im from crotch t’ Adam’s apple with my claws. Know what happened next?”

“Wh-what?”

“Bastard never bothered me again.”

“There are other ways to settle a fight –”

“Sure are – coulda torn ‘is balls off. Told yer X-buddy Rogue before, ya can only get one good surprise over on someone who think’s yer weaker’n they are. Lose that one shot, then ya lose gainin’ tha upper hand. Perspective fer ya is t’ find that openin’, that chance t’ surprise ‘em, an’ fuckin’ do somethin’ before they can take it away from ya.”

“Surprise them, huh?”

Before he could answer, she reached up and wedged the knife handle in his mouth, behind the fangs. He started trying to spit it out, a growl rising, when her hands flattened on his stomach. The fingers splayed, and then she began to touch him, pet him, like she had long ago.

He stopped the coiling bunch of muscles that were preparing to rip himself free and then tear her limb from limb, and forced himself to go still.

Her head leaned in, her mouth opening to kiss the swells of hard and heaving muscle he’d tried to coax her to cut. Her tongue darted out, licked one of the lines between the muscles, and then she kissed his skin again.

The fur there in a line from his belly to his waistband curled, wet from her tongue. The sensation made the muscles ripple as he sucked in his breath, but the action stirred echoes, too – a riot of things he’d repressed out of self-preservation.

“Isn’t this what you really wanted?” she whispered to the dusting of blonde hairs that fanned out thinner over his lower belly. “You don’t need to hurt me; you don’t have to … to get what you want from me.”

Steel chains clinked as his arms tensed, his fingers spreading. The claws slid out, slow and lethal. She looked up at the sound and saw them. A shadow of fear passed over her face then and she straightened. Lifting her hands to his mouth, she tried to remove the knife.

Victor snarled at her, but when she tried again, he allowed her to take it gingerly out.

“Am I wrong?” she asked, a note of desperation creeping into her voice. “I may be new to playing with knives, but I’ve seen lust in the eyes of a lot of men when they look at me. I’d rather not touch you again, but if you’re just going to keep forcing and hurting me, then I can … do it … willingly.”

He watched her in silence, trying to gauge what the hell she was after. Her words and her scent didn’t match.

“Creed? Do you want me to open the shackles?”

There was the fear stink, all in a rush as she dropped the knife at their feet … she was afraid she’d gone too far and his silence was terrifying her. Victor clenched his teeth against the ghosts in his head – the bleeding, haunting torments her soft touch had torn free.

 _It’s not tha same … she ain’t willin’, she’s desperate. Somethin’ else, too – she’s lonely t’ tha core, makin’ ‘er more desperate. Used t’ be drawn t’ me, now she’s caught up in old wants an’ gonna slap a survival label on it t’ make it not ‘er fault. Nothin’ ain’t ever this bitch’s fault._ A smoldering but never forgotten conviction slid back into the blood that raced in his veins: to make her pay. His voice slid out, rasping and full of menace, “Naw, frail – I want ya back on yer knees.”

“I’m sorry if I – They said I shouldn’t, but I thought you might want me to, might stop being cruel if I did, and I –”

“Make it up t’ me. Suck my dick.”

She almost hesitated, until his growl made her think better of it. Her scent hadn’t changed, however; the fear had spiked, but the underlying hint of arousal was still there. As she sank to her knees and reached out to open his jeans, the heady smell of her pheromones thickened almost as fast as his cock.

When she pulled it out, it was obvious she’d done this many times. Dusty memories of prostitutes from over a hundred years ago invaded his thoughts and he let them – they were far safer than his untarnished ghosts.

Victor hissed when her mouth surrounded him. Her tongue swirled around the foreskin, working under it without a qualm, though she could barely take in more than the head without choking. Yet she seemed to have decided how to make this tolerable for her morals – she was going to pretend he was someone she had loved, wasn’t she? It would make her soft, make it too much like...

The hiss erupted into a growl, his wrists jerking on the chains. “If ya touch me like I’m that baby-faced shit Guthrie, I’ll break yer neck an’ skull-fuck yer corpse, bitch!”

In shock and panic, her teeth nearly bit down. She stopped and began to back off of it.

“Pick up tha knife – we ain’t done with lesson two yet.”

She groped for it as her lips slid off of his cock. It was so hard it bobbed at her lips as if seeking her wet heat on its own. Lifting the weapon, her eyes narrowing, he saw the thought as clearly on her face as if he’d been struck by telepathy.

“Cut it off now, frail, an’ I’ll fuck ya up yer ass with it while I’m waitin’ fer tha new one t’ grow back so I can do ya proper.”

“Where do you want it then?” she asked, her fury blazing as hot as her fear. They had torched and killed the arousal that had led her to kiss him, but he didn’t care about that.

“Vastus lateralis – right in tha side muscle o’ tha thigh – an’ if yer hand comes offa tha handle, I’ll feed it t’ ya, manicure first.”

The ripping plunge of the blade into the tight muscle was as hot as her mouth, but she seemed to have forgotten about that. On the heels of his roar of pain, he glared down at her, panting.

“You like that, you sick fuck?”

“Ain’t bad at all,” he told her, grinning fiercely. “Ya need somethin’ t’ do with that mouth, though, don’t ya? Let’s see how far ya can swallow it.”

Her mouth caught his cock and this time all pretense of tender passion was gone. She tried to take more of it in, but choked far too soon. Grabbing the shaft with her free hand, she squeezed and jerked it. The motion and her anger made the hand on the knife pull down, tearing the stab wound open even as it healed around the blade.

Victor’s body lurched, the open jeans falling off of his hips. The denim snagged on the knife handle, covering the girl’s white-knuckled grip.

Abruptly, his hand was pressed against the back of her head, fingers twining in the hair, claws shearing away one of the bouncing curls. She choked, but he thrust with his hips and shoved his cock deeper, tearing past the resistance in her bludgeoned throat. His other hand, the snapped chain swinging, covered her grip on the knife handle, his strength pushing on the blade so hard that the finger guard began to sink into his flesh.

Blood spurted, striking her cheek – drops of it trembling on her lashes as her eyes squeezed shut, pouring tears.

Victor watched her blood-spattered and tear-streaked face, his teeth bared in a savage snarl as his orgasm gathered, crested, prepared to burst. In the end, he knew it would be the agony of the blade more than the inadequate little mouth that would make his cum fill her. Grinding her fingers under his, he tore the blade down farther and stared – aching to see it when more than blood would dribble from her swelling lips.

He didn’t know when or how pain had started to blend with pleasure in his blood, in his gut. The answer was lost in one of those murky places left in his abused brain; perhaps it had even been cut away when the runt’s claw tore its liberating path through his skull.

Pain was a part of him, though, as it had always been, whether his own or the pain of someone splayed under his claws, or split by his cock. Both were good, both sang in his veins until his tattered soul was set free again: from the past, from the buried things he couldn’t – wouldn’t – look at … things buried none too deeply.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Suffice to say, the Frenchmen were right – showing affection is not a good idea around Victor Creed. The reason why can be found in the aforementioned Sabretooth limited series, "Mary Shelley Overdrive". The young lady’s name in that story is Bonnie Hale. She was a curvaceous busty blue-eyed thing with long curling blonde hair. For as naïve as she was, she turned out to have a taste for violence and Victor’s violence on others only turned her on. Granted, he was attacking bad guys, but still.
> 
> Spoiler Warning: Bonnie and Victor had a big “lust that could have become love” whirlwind night together. One could argue that Creed seems to “fall too fast” for Bonnie, but I think it was a case of “living in the now” meets “unprepared for the unexpected”. Women are terrified and repulsed by him for the most part. Yes, the prostitutes and Madam in the story seem fond of him, but he is probably the owner of the building they live in and so their loyalty may be “bought and paid for” rather than being a spontaneous and honest affection, like he is getting from Bonnie out of the blue. She sparks a fierce protectiveness in him fueled by sex, shared violence, and the utter shock of her truthful and honest attraction to him. I’ll just say it didn’t end well for her and let you read the limited series for the details. Beware, though, this story has a lot of spoilers about this series later on.
> 
> The events of that limited series happened almost a month ago by the start my tale and Creed is far more torn up about everything that happened than he realized he would be. I believe it’s left him caught between being unwilling to let another person in and wanting someone to ‘take her place’. As a default, he is wary of allowing himself to be anything other than brutal to most people.
> 
> The names “Goldfinger” and “Dr. No” are from Ian Fleming’s James Bond novels/films. My thanks to those who are reading. (@MET_Fic) - AnonGrimm


	5. Sins of the Fathers

But tell me can you heal what father's done?  
Or fix this hole in a mother's son?  
Can you heal the broken worlds within?  
Can you strip away so we may start again?  
Tell me, can you heal what father's done?  
Or cut this rope and let us run?  
Just when all seems fine and I'm pain free  
You jab another pin  
Jab another pin in me

Mirror, mirror upon thy wall  
Break the spell or become the doll  
See you sharpening the pins  
So the holes will remind us  
We're just the toys in the hands of another  
And in time the needles turn from shine to rust

~ Fixxxer (Metallica)

*****************************************************************

The cloth that patted her forehead and cheek was damp and cool. The kindness of it was confusing, however, even painful when she realized that she couldn’t remember anyone doing something like that for her before. Not a teammate, or a lover – and certainly never a parent.

Water dripped, and the cloth attempted to smooth the worry lines furrowing her brow. Tabitha tried to breathe deeply, evenly, grateful that the cloth stayed away from her mouth.

Her lips were swollen and painful, her throat on fire. As much as she tried to forget how they got that way, the images and the horror were bent on sticking around.

 _Who is here? It has to be Brys,_ she thought.  _Sabretooth wouldn’t give a damn about soothing me and that bastard Perrin might be in training to be just as sadistic as his boss._   _Where am I? On a bed – please, God, don’t let it be Creed’s._

She was about to risk opening her eyes, when the sound of Sabretooth’s voice made her change her mind. He sounded irritated, but didn’t appear to be speaking to her or to Brys. After a beat or two, it dawned on her that he was talking on a phone. The distance was hard to gauge; she couldn’t tell if he was inside the same room or not. Aching to peek, she kept her eyes shut and listened.

“No, Berlin’s up t’ bat next after New Orleans. First thing, though, I gotta run over t’ Nepal. It ain’t on tha books, it’s personal. A delivery. Get hold o’ Ellison an’ have ‘im call me ‘bout it – if he can meet me there, all tha better, I want this handled right without any fuck-ups.” Sabretooth growled, but it was unclear if he was angry with the caller or something the person had said. “I don’t give a fuck if ‘is schedule’s full. Ask ‘im if he wants me t’ come out there an’ clear it fer ‘im, an’ see how quick he’s got tha bloody time fer me. Just fix it, Obinata.”

“Problems, sir?” Brys asked over her head, the cloth pausing.

“Not after he passes on that message. Oh, he’ll butter it all up – he ain’t a crass backwoods jackass like me. Ain’t that right, frail?”

Having remembered that feigning sleep was pointless, Tabitha opened her eyes. Brys was sitting on the bed beside her, a bowl of water on the nightstand, and the bedroom wasn’t Creed’s. The brute was standing in the open doorway, actually dressed in one of his designer suits instead of just in shabby jeans. She didn’t pay attention to the dark gray couture, however – her gaze fell on the small rectangle of technology in one of his huge paws and got stuck there.

Creed snorted. “What’s tha matter, did tha cat get yer tongue?”

“Ah, I doubt if she’s able to speak yet –”

“I was talkin’ t’ tha one with tits, I think.”

Flinching, Tabitha nodded to answer them both. Even drawing breath hurt.

A grin spreading to show all of his teeth, Creed walked into the room and tossed the Nokia onto the covers over her stomach. The keypad was still extended. It was a Nokia 7650, just like hers, only black instead of gray.

“Wanna borrow that? Go ahead – call Cueball an’ tell ‘im yer in dire need o’ rescuin’.” When she made no move to touch it, staring up at him in fear, he reached down and picked it up again. He sneered at her as he snapped the keypad in and tucked it into a pocket on the inside of the double-breasted jacket. “Not in tha mood t’ chat with old friends an’ masters, huh?”

As he moved to the doorway again, leaning his back against it, he returned to watching her.

Brys tried again. “Will you be here for supper, sir?”

“Maybe. Probly. Hell, I’ll see how it goes. She gonna live?”

“I’m sure she’ll be fine after a good amount of rest.”

“She don’t look too sure.” With a grunt, he added, “If I can speed things up, I might be back in a few hours. Try not t’ miss me, Tabitha.” He turned and walked off, the sound of heavy footsteps on the floor heading down the hall.

“He’ll be gone for a while,” Brys assured her, his tone almost paternal. It made her shudder. He plunked the cloth into the bowl and stood. “Get some more sleep if you can. There’s a glass and pitcher of water here, and I’ll bring you some hot lemon tea with honey.” Picking up the bowl, he carried it out with him.

Tabitha thought about touching her mouth to feel how bad it might be, but she didn’t have the guts. Letting her eyes close, she slipped mercifully back into oblivion for a little while longer.

At one point she woke and struggled up to drink the cooling tea that had appeared on the nightstand. It had a slightly bitter taste in spite of the honey, but if the cook had put some sort of drug in it, she couldn’t care.

 _I hope it’s something that’ll either kill me quick or stop me from feeling my face, or my throat._  Creed’s taunt about calling Xavier haunted her.  _I don’t need a phone to call him, do I? Strongest damn telepath in the world, I ought to be able to scream his name until he hears me... So why don’t I try?_  Tears rose in her eyes, but she wiped them away angrily.  _What if I did and he … didn’t answer?_

Whatever the tea had been spiked with began to drag her down. She gulped more of it painfully. Barely getting the mug safely back on the nightstand, she lay flat, ready to allow the witch’s brew to do its work.

~ ~ ~

Time blurred. She had no idea what day it was and didn’t try to find out. She slept, got up and stumbled to the bathroom when she had to, and drank the bitter honey tea whenever it appeared. Now and then, Brys would be sitting in the wingchair across the room. If she was hungry, he brought her soup. Slowly, her throat healed and her lips weren’t so frightening in the mirror anymore.

Waking to find Brys in the chair watching over her again, she sipped some of the water he’d brought and spoke for the first time since the dungeon.

“Where is he?” Tabitha winced at the croak of her rusty voice. “How long have I…?”

“Mr. Creed is currently in his study, working. You’ve been recuperating for three days; amazingly, he’s allowed me to care for you without bothering you himself in that time.”

“Thank you, Brys.”

Pleased, he smiled at her. “It’s no trouble; I only wish you’d listened to our advice about him.”

“Lecture not necessary; I plan to listen from now on.” She sat up gingerly. “Is it day or night?”

“It’s night, a couple of hours after supper. Would you like some real food?”

“Sure, thanks – but I’d rather have a shower first.”

“Of course.” He stood and went to the door. “I made a stew, with the elk, but otherwise a regular vegetables affair.”

“Sounds good. I’ll be as quick as I can, okay?”

“No need, take your time. I’ll start putting a tray together for you.”

“Wait... What is he working on?”

“I don’t know. He’s been on the computer for hours.” When she didn’t reply to that, he slipped out and shut the door softly behind him.

Tabitha didn’t take long in the shower. It was irrational to think that being clothed was any protection around Sabretooth, but being naked for long seemed insane. As she stepped out of the tub and wrapped a towel around her, she heard someone in the room outside.

Forcing herself to move, she muttered, “If it was him, you wouldn’t be hearing anything.”

Grateful that she’d brought a pile of folded clothes in with her, she dressed quickly. A few brisk tousles of the towel in her hair and it was dry enough. She hung the towel on the rack and wiped the fogged mirror over the sink with her palm.

Her lips looked almost normal again and her throat felt like she’d recently gotten over a cough.

“Stupid, fucking bitch,” she whispered to her refection. “So worried he’ll kill you... Did you forget how bad he might mess you up and then leave you alive to enjoy his handiwork?”

Once, Storm had tried to speak to her about her clandestine visits with Sabretooth in the Danger Room. She had been far more understanding than the others, but still not interested in why, only that she stop. Frowning at that, she tried to push the annoyance away and remember the woman’s words. She’d said something about Sabretooth, something she’d learned from talking to Wolverine years before.

 _She said that he … loves pain, as much as he loves killing. I saw enough evidence of that. What was it? Pain … without the kill, makes it more … enjoyable, because once you kill someone it’s over – they’re safe from you. That was it. Wolverine told her that there are lots of different kinds of pain, too. That’s why Sabretooth always goes for killing people an enemy cares about. Or almost killing them..._  Tabitha’s fingers rose to cover her mouth.  _He wasn’t trying to kill Psylocke. If he meant to kill her, she’d have been dead. What he did … the result … barely alive, but not dead – not dead! That’s what he was aiming for. Why?_  One hand left her mouth to reach up and touch her cheek. Staring at herself, she gasped.  _He isn’t planning to kill me and God help me, that might be a bad thing._

Her thoughts flashed on the rows of knives in the kitchen; tears rose as she realized how easy it might be...

 _No, damn it, no. When I knew Dad would never stop, I ran away. Vancouver. Just hang on and get there, Tab_ _, and for fuck’s sake, stop trying to seduce the beast or offer him anything. He wants to take it_ _– giving it to him just pisses him off._  Thinking of all the things Professor Xavier had told her after their stupid intervention, she tried to piece it all together with things she’d learned since.  _Something makes monsters – it’s pretty rare for one to be born that way. What does it take to make a creature like Sabretooth? What did he say before, about his father teaching him..._ The words, spoken in that rasping slaughterhouse voice, floated back into her mind.  _‘Know what my pa taught me? If ya gotta chew yer own hand off t’ get loose from a trap … it’ll grow tha fuck back.’_

Closing her eyes, she let the tears slip down her cheeks. The horror couched in that statement, as she realized he meant it, that it was something that had happened, tightened her chest. Insanely, in spite of everything he’d done, everything he’d done to her – she knew he really was just like her, as he’d once taunted her. They were both the end result of choices their fathers had made.

_It also means he’s got enough vicious brutality packed in to let me live – but what state I’m in might not be recognizable to anyone. How the hell can I get away in one piece?_

The door handle moved, slow and deliberate. Tabitha held her breath and stared at the long brass handle. It was locked, but she knew that didn’t matter one bit. It stopped a second later and she watched it move back up.

Limbs trembling, she covered her mouth again and froze. Unaware of how long she’d stood there, barely breathing through her fingers, she jumped and cried out when a soft knock sounded on the wood.

“Tabitha?” Brys called. “It’s only me. The tray is on the table.”

“Is he out there?”

“No, he’s still in the study.”

“He was here; he grabbed the door handle...”

His voice lowering, softening, he told her, “I … don’t know, I was down in the kitchen. At the moment, he’s in the study – I didn’t think he’d moved at all. Are you … all right?”

With shaking fingers, she unlocked the door and opened it. “He’s not here...”

“No. You’re trembling. Come on out and try to eat? It might settle you some. I brought some wine, if you’d like a glass.”

“I might like the whole bottle.”

“I’ll leave it, then.”

~ ~ ~

She had a self-defense buzz going when Brys appeared to take the tray. Tabitha let him in. She’d given up on the glass and had a white-knuckle grip on the neck of the bottle.

“This is probably the last thing you want to hear, but he’s asking for you. I’m supposed to tell you to go to the study.”

“Well, that’s better than leading me upstairs into Hell without a peep of warning like your boyfriend did.”

“It won’t matter, I suppose, but I’m sorry about that. Perrin is … influenced by Mr. Creed’s peculiar brand of ‘freedom’. The only explanation I could offer is that he didn’t have a very cheerful upbringing.”

“Lot of that going around here,” she answered. Not bothering to lace up her boots, she brought the bottle with her and went out.

The doors to the study off of the hall were open and the fire was crackling merrily inside the long room. Creed sat at a desk that could have doubled as decking for a cruise ship. His face was lit by the computer screen before him, a sleek Apple Titanium PowerBook G4 laptop that had made her drool – until it had burned her the moment she reached out to touch it.

A low growl sounded from the desk, but just as she assumed it was Creed, she realized it came from under him.

“Goshana’s still holding that hook kick against me, huh?”

He didn’t look away from the screen. “Yeah, use that name like it ain’t gonna piss me off.”

Tabitha didn’t bother to hide her fear of the man, since all the advice said that was a bad idea. She knew he could smell it on her, anyway. Yet if she intended to function around him, irreverent bravado seemed like the only option.

“So what do you call her? Hello Kitty?”

“Don’t gotta call ‘er nothin’; she don’t come when called, she goes in an’ out as she damn well pleases.”

“I do come when called and you called me. What do you want?”

Creed finally deigned to look up at her, a predictable smirk stretching his cruel lips. “‘Sides tha pleasure o’ yer sauced comp’ny? Time fer ya t’ earn yer keep a bit, that’s what I want.”

“Funny, I thought I was.”

“Funny?” He rose and stalked to the edge of the desk, leaning his hip on it. “Ain’t nothin’ funny ‘bout it, frail. Ya wanna listen up, or would ya rather keep baitin’ me?”

He was back in jeans and a thin t-shirt, this time a faded concert image of someone named Joe Cocker. His bare feet and thick fingers were devoid of claws at the moment, as they had rarely been in the Danger Room. For the first time, she realized that the tips of his fingers and toes looked almost normal, beyond being oversized and missing a human nail plate or nail bed. The skin there was smooth.

 _They must cut their way out like Wolverine’s._  “Um, I’m listening.”

“Sit, before ya fall down – on tha couch. Ya drunk, or just in tha mood t’ party?”

As he rose and advanced, she nearly fell into the couch. He took the wine bottle from her and set it next to an empty whiskey bottle on the coffee table.

Looking up at him, she tried not to let her voice tremble. “Your stunt with my bathroom door handle left me feeling thirsty.”

“Yeah, well, I was gonna ask if ya needed help scrubbin’ yer back.”

“I didn’t and I’m buzzed, not drunk. What’s going on? What … do I need … to do...?”

Her words trailed off when he sank down to a crouch in front of her. One hand moved the coffee table out of his way, almost toppling the bottles. He went down on one knee and reached for her boots. To her shock, he started doing up the laces, his loose long curling hair covering his face when he bent his head to tie them.

“Yer former client’s tryin’ again. Got ten men on tha scanners, two with fuckin’ flamethrowers. I’m not in tha mood t’ grow ‘nother new face, so we’re gonna go out an’ take care o’ ‘em – t’gether.”

“I won’t kill –”

“Didn’t ask ya, did I? Said ya were gonna listen, didn’t ya?”

“Y-yes.”

“Ya can prove how precise those bullet bombs o’ yers are. Blow up tha tanks on their backs; it won’t kill ‘em if ya do it right – might singe ‘em, but that’s all. I’ll take care o’ tha rest.”

“Won’t your Bond villain crap take them out? I got hit with a laser.” She swallowed when he knotted the second boot and stared back at her, far too close for comfort. His silence unnerving her, she asked, “It stopped after one, though. Did you turn it off?”

“Nope. Snagged a sound bite o’ yer voice from a news clip an’ fed it int’ tha system. It’s voice activated, girl. Ya musta said somethin’ out loud fer it t’ stop.”

“Must have? You know I did – you were already waiting to ambush me, weren’t you?”

“Yup. Had ya tracked tha first time ya took a squat in tha snow.” He moved over her, but then sat on the couch beside her, still far too close. “We gotta go out there cuz I turned off half o’ tha lethal shit so it wouldn’t end up hurtin’ my guest. Motion sensors – that’s tha lasers – are on, they ain’t gonna bother an animal, but these boys are either too stupid or too greedy t’ let a few zaps stop ‘em.”

“Oh. Are they... Where are they?”

“Come look.”

He got up and went back to the desk. Moving beyond it, he opened a sliding wooden panel door that she had assumed was just a section of wall. The snow leopard darted through it into what had to be his bedroom. He closed it behind her.

“Master suite’s closed up, safest place in tha house. Don’t want tha prize outside fightin’ with us – never know when one o’ those bastards’ll get lucky.” Crooking a finger at her, he motioned for her to join him.

When she reluctantly obeyed, his fingers wrapped around the back of her neck. He drew her over, and then the fingers moved to her shoulder to push her down into his heavy wooden chair.

The screen was split into four squares, each one showing a few men in black riot gear creeping through the snow in the dim moonlight.

“Mouse can show ya tha other views,” he said at her ear, the warm breath on her neck making her shudder.

“It’ll shock me.”

“Got tha field off, stupid.”

She reached out and gripped the large wireless mouse. A wireless keyboard with bigger keys was laying directly over the laptop’s keys. Gulping, she found the image on the screen that would change the views and clicked it.

“How did some of them get inside the fence already?”

His mouth almost touched the outer curve of her ear, his broad chin moving her curls. “Jackass musta hired a better class o’ hitmen since he greased yer palm.”

“Are you going to let me help, or are you determined to scare the hell out of me until I can’t function?”

“Aw, Tabitha … ya say tha sweetest things.” He straightened and surprised her by pulling off his t-shirt. He tossed it on the couch and headed for the door.

“So is this ‘Slaughter by Abercrombie and Fitch’?”

“What ya yappin’ ‘bout now?”

“You seem to prefer to kill people while half-dressed like a male fashion model – when you aren’t doing it in Armani, that is.”

“I like that shirt – don’t wanna get their fuckin’ blood on it – or yers. Comin’?”

Tabitha stood and followed, shaking her head. “Rolling Stones and Joe Cocker? I’d have pegged you as a Heavy Metal fan. Who the hell is Joe Cocker, anyway?”

Sabretooth grinned. “Metal’s just dandy, but there’s nothin’ like tha classics. Cocker was at Woodstock, frail – that’s tha byword fer cool.”

“I suppose you were there.”

“Yup. Talk ‘bout a wild party. Escaped tha CIA’s leash, figured I’d earned tha R an’ R.”

Tabitha’s eyebrows rose in disbelief. “Wasn’t it a bit too ‘peace, love’ for a guy like you?”

“Music was hot, senses were through tha roof; almost as good as Carnival in Rio fer gettin’ a taste o’ what bein’ drunk might feel like. Plus, I could pick off a hippie here an’ there in tha crowd without any o’ those gyratin’ flower child motherfuckers any tha wiser.”

“Ugh. Did you braid your hair?”

“Natch, even had a couple o’ daisies stuck in it, courtesy o’ my first meal there. Good fuckin’ times.”

“I’ll stick with Pop and Hip Hop, and not murdering people, thanks.”

“Yer just jealous. No help fer it, though. Ya were nothin’ but a candy bar in yer daddy’s back pocket in tha Summer o’ Love!” Pausing down the hall, he glanced back at her. “Or maybe ya weren’t – how old are ya, anyhow?”

“Twenty-three.”

“Aw, scratch that, yer too young by far. Ya know, here an’ there, time does a weird fuckin’ compression thing on my brain; I blame tha runt.”

“So you’re what – older than dirt?”

“Me? I’m a spry fella just under a hundred an’ fifty, frail, an’ goin’ strong.”

“Yeah, like Hell’s Energizer Bunny.”

His laughter rang back up to her as she followed him down the stairs. Creed was six foot six, rumored to be around 380 pounds with the adamantium bones. Compared to her five foot five and 120 pounds, she was off her rocker to be baiting the man or poking fun at him, even without the claws and fangs. Yet just when she worried that she’d put her foot in it good, he would decide what she’d said or done was hilarious.

_Worry about him later, Tab. Right now you have to figure out how to take out two guys without killing them. How is he so sure they’re Rothenberg’s men, anyway? There’s bound to be a line for all the people who’d like to kill the bastard. If I live through this, I’ll ask Wolverine where I sign up._

Brys and Perrin were standing in the entrance hall. Creed gave them instructions fast as he passed them, mostly all about staying inside where they’d be safe. Tabitha sighed and followed him to the front doors.

“Stick close ‘til we get out there,” he told her.

“Are they that dangerous?”

“Right now, tha house might kill ya faster, frail.” He shocked her by throwing his forearm around her shoulders and yanking her against his side.

As they went under the ugly metal art over the doors, she noticed it was humming, as if someone had struck the weird cables that wove through its face. Abruptly, she saw red lights on it that hadn’t been there before.

“That’s one of your devices, isn’t it?”

“Dr. No’d be proud.”

He punched a code into something she’d thought was just a small mirror on the wall. With a click, the doors began to open. Creed slipped her out with him, only removing his arm from her shoulders when they were through.

“Pay attention, now. Tha pressurizer tank’s filled with a non-flammable gas; if ya rupture that, tha operator’ll just get knocked on ‘is face. It’s no worse than puncturin’ an aerosol can. Not just any hit can explode tha fuel containers; a bullet in a metal can full o’ diesel or napalm is just gonna make tha shit leak out. That’s why it takes magnesium filled igniters t’ fire those things. Now an incendiary round might could ignite tha fuel mixture, so if yer serious ‘bout no kills, be careful where ya put tha plasma bullets. I’d aim fer tha pressurizer tank; damn thing can’t spit fire without that t’ push it out. Yer two are in tha fenceline, that way, along with three more. I’m goin’ out fer tha stragglers.”

The doors closed and the mechanical noise they made told her they had locked automatically.

“What if these guys –”

She turned her head, but Sabretooth was gone. There was a light wind blowing the snow around her boots and she couldn’t even see tracks that might prove that he’d been standing at her side.

“Great. Couldn’t have lent me your coat, huh?” Two sweaters were not going to cut it. “Okay, fine, blowing up pressurizer tanks, no problem. Maybe I can ignite a fuel container and warm up by the fire after I torch these idiots.”

Heading off to her right in the direction Sabretooth had indicated, Tabitha hoped she could spot the men before one of them shot or torched her.

Using trees as cover, she ran from one to the next and listened for any noises. Soon enough, she heard one – the sound of a man screaming, probably right before his throat was torn out. As luck would have it, it gave her the location of the others when their voices cried out in shock.

Moving forward again, she peered out from behind another tree. Through the snow that had likely begun to fall as soon as the sun had set, she picked out the dark shapes. Three were in a huddle, with two ranging out, one on each side. Their bulky shapes were strange, and once she saw the odd branch-like protrusions, she realized the outer pair were the ones with flamethrowers.

Bending down, she picked up a frosted pinecone and made three tiny bombs to tuck inside the stiff seeds. Tossing it out into the snow, she ducked back when all five figures turned to look. One of them broke away from the pack and walked carefully forward to investigate.

_One, two … three!_

The bombs popped, the bright flares blowing the pinecone to bits and temporarily blinding the man who’d grabbed it.

She was answered by a loud hissing noise and a bright stream of fire blowing out near her tree.

_Okay, that might not have been the stealthiest thing I’ve ever done. Now they know I’m here and if Rothenberg told them anything, they know what I can do. I need them to face away from me, damn it!_

Another horrid scream split the night and most of the men turned to stare in that direction. Risking a peek, she saw a large pack filled with a trio of cylinders mounted to one man’s back.

_Bet Creed’s doing that on purpose._

Glaring, she lifted her hands and shot off a stream of plasma bursts in the form of long bullets. Most of them struck the obvious places where a harness would be, cutting the pack right off of the man’s back. In the instant the pack full of cylinders hit the snow, she fired again, grinning at the sight of the others running madly to get away from the blast. With a concussive explosion, the cylinders were gone.

Tabitha darted back behind her tree to dodge sharp bits of shrapnel.  _Well, that worked_ _. Take that, ‘Tooth. Pete_ _already taught me about flamethrowers._  She drew in long, deep breaths to calm her pounding heart.  _Center_ _pressurizer holds the gas, outer cylinders have the flammable oil-based liquid fuel. It needs an ignition source to burn and I have that in spades_ _. Plus, it makes a bigger boom than just taking out the pressurizer tank, and bigger booms demoralize the enemy faster._

She was about to take another look, when a dark figure swung around at her from the other side of her tree. Before she could yelp, the cold mouth of a very large pistol pressed into her forehead.

“Don’t move, bitch. Where’s Creed?”

“Out killing your friends.” On cue, a third scream arched out of the dark beyond the trees. “If you have any sense, you’ll run.”

“Might kill you first. You’ve got five seconds to tell me where he’s keeping Goshana.”

“Yeah, about that – that name just makes him mad. Did you know she’s a snow leopard? It was news to me. She’s in the house. By the way, I just put a bomb down your pants.”

He dropped his head to look and she batted the gun away from her face. Popping the bomb up out of his waistband between them, she let it blow him backward on his ass. The pistol went flying and she surged forward to grab it. Using it to knock his head into the snow, she checked it, put the safety on, and stuffed it down the back of her jeans, under the sweaters.

“Okay, where was I? Oh, yeah – bad guys. Or … badder guys. Not-so-bad guys? Screw it.”

Tabitha ran out between the trees, trying to spot the other backpack. At that moment, two more men came running at her from the forest. When she saw the black shape jump behind them, her eyes widened and she almost screamed.

Sabretooth fell on them, tumbling them into the snow. She watched in terror as his mouth opened, the jaw dropping strangely low, the fangs sinking into the upper thigh of one of the men. The mouth began to close, the jaw levering back up and what must have been a horrific pressure started to cut cloth and flesh, and then crack bone. Pushing backward, he tore his closed teeth out of the leg, taking most of the top of it with them.

She fell to her knees and tried not to retch but it was like watching a train wreck; she couldn’t look away. He rose up as the second man managed to stand and grabbed that man’s throat, the fingers crushing moments before the claws ripped it out.

When a jet of fire erupted over his head, his roar was deafening. Tabitha turned, twisting her body to face the other flamethrower operator.

_He’ll kill them, he’ll kill them all – but if I don’t blow that thing up, he’ll kill me for letting them –_

Tabitha saw the man lower the nozzle, obviously intending to hit his fellows as well as Sabretooth. From the angle presented to her, she couldn’t hit the straps as easily. Holding her breath, she fired a sliver of incendiary plasma at the pressurizer tank, hoping Creed was right, Hollywood was wrong, and it wouldn’t kill the man.

The force of the high pressure gas blowing the tank open pitched him on his face. He struggled to release the harness himself, and the moment he staggered away from it, Tabitha blew the rest and watched the cylinders explode. The fireball shot straight up and toppled the operator into the snow. The man rolled and went for his gun, wisely swinging it to point at the monster bearing down on him.

_Do I give a shit if they shoot_ _‘Tooth? Nope, not a bit._

More gunfire opened up, all of it pointing at Sabretooth. Diving for another tree, Tabitha put her back to it. After a few ragged breaths, worried about missing how many targets there were, she turned and pressed her chest into the tree, keeping her fingers behind it and taking quick glimpses at the scene of carnage.

Two of the men had assault rifles and Creed went for them first, ignoring the pistols fired by the pair of flamethrower operators. She lost count of how many rounds struck his torso, arms, and legs, but Tabitha never once entertained the thought that they could put down Victor Creed.

_If Wolverine couldn’t do it... Why don’t they run? Just give up and run!_

She watched in terror as he waded into them, shattering one man’s skull with the weapon he’d yanked from his hands. He turned it, set the stock against his bloody shoulder and fired at the other man holding the same type of weapon. Swinging it like a club again, he cracked it into another man’s face and then dropped it to leap on the remaining two invaders. When the claws flashed in his upraised hands, Tabitha whipped around and set her back to the tree.

“Just run,” she whispered. As the sounds of them dying erupted behind her, she sank to her knees again and bent over, with her palms smashed against her ears, until her curls brushed the snow.

In moments, silence settled around them all and the snow continued to fall. She screamed and almost struck him with a bomb when Victor came up and nudged her thigh with a toe. The claw poked through her jeans … and it was bloody.

Sucking the plasma back into her hand fast, she finally took the other hand off of her ear.

“I’m gonna assume ya thought I was one o’ ‘em, right?”

“Yeah … of course. Sorry.”

He was covered with wounds in various stages of healing. Several had already become lumps of flesh over a bullet. His jeans, hair, and skin were soaked and smeared with blood, his and theirs.

“Ya can uncurl, frail, it’s over – an’ lookie what ya managed all by yer lonesome!” He stepped behind her and stopped, grinning down at a dark shadow in the snow. “Thought I sliced ‘em all, but lost count; now we got us a prisoner. Good work, partner.”

Tabitha lifted her head, a groan on her frozen lips. The man she’d knocked out with his own pistol was lying unconscious at Creed’s feet.

~ ~ ~

She was freezing, huddled in one of Brys’s heavy winter coats. The upstairs chamber where she’d been shackled to the table was dimly lit only by three of the torches. Standing right next to the open exit at the top of the stairs, Tabitha leaned against the wall and stomped her boots to warm her feet.

The Frenchmen were out collecting weapons, gear, and corpses on the boss’s orders. All things considered, she would have preferred to help them. Instead, she’d been told to follow as Sabretooth hoisted the last man breathing up onto one shoulder and carried him to her second least favorite room in the house.

With his prisoner locked into the table’s shackles, Sabretooth chuckled when the man moaned and began to come around.

“Fancy meetin’ ya here, Vaughn. Oh, where’re my manners? This here’s Tabitha Smith – tha last bright idea yer boss had t’ send up t’ irritate me. Tell ya tha truth, she’s been doin’ a bang up job.”

“Herr Rothenberg will only send more, Creed. Want your peace back? Let me have the animal and I’ll return her – no more problem.”

“Nice, ‘cept ya reek o’ terror – ‘bout t’ soil yer shorts, I’m guessin’. ‘Herr’ Rothenberg is it? Gimme a break, asswipe; that man was born in Tulsa, an’ he’s ‘bout as German as tha frail over there.” Leaning over him, Sabretooth grinned. “As fer tha ‘animal’, I’ll return ‘er myself, thanks – t’ Nepal where she belongs. Ya don’t need t’ concern yerself ‘bout that, though.”

Tabitha dropped her gaze to her boots when the claw was lifted over the man’s face. “I was the only one who got the ‘Goshana is a person’ lie, huh?”

“I’m thinkin’ ya were tha only one dumb ‘nuff  t’ fall fer it.”

She winced when the prisoner screamed. The sound of the claw cutting through clothing and flesh might never leave her nightmares.

“Yer boots hold tha secrets o’ tha universe? Didn’t haul yer cookies up here t’ ignore my handiwork. Look: I drew ya a smiley face!”

Tabitha glanced up reluctantly. He had bared Vaughn’s torso, the claw slicing through Kevlar plates in the gear as easily as the cloth and skin beneath it. Opening the clothes like he had her sweater and shirt, the beast had scratched a red circle into the stomach with dots for eyes and a dripping curve of a smile.

“Why am I here?” she asked, her throat tight.

“Thought ya might have a question or two t’ ask ‘im – after all, ya caught ‘im.” Meeting her horrified stare, he grinned. “Aw, I can’t bullshit ya – I just wanna watch ya squirm. ‘Sides, ya didn’t get t’ see tha real trick this contraption can do.”

Moving to the left side of it, he touched something under the tabletop. The slab lifted about a foot higher and then, with a loud series of cracks, it tilted up and shunted, fast, up the wall.

“I forgot tha bucket, but ya can dip it forward, too.” When he pressed or flicked something else in the same area, the slab holding the writhing man inclined toward her at a sharp angle. All of the other claws popped out on the hand and he clucked his tongue at her as he held them poised over the bloody smiley face. “Whattaya say, frail? Fast or slow?”

The claws began to drop over the screaming man’s shuddering skin, but Tabitha had had enough. She cried out and fled down the stairs, nearly falling down them in a heap. Fleeing out of the dressing room, she got as far as his bathroom and flung herself down in front of the toilet to throw up.

She heard him coming only because he was running his claws down the rock wall of the stairwell. The claws on his feet made a clicking sound on the wooden floor of the hall, and then the hand was on the marble wall: another noise of scraping stone blasting fear up her spine.

When it stopped, she knew he would touch her – knew there was nothing she could do about it.

The fingers and palm settled on the curve of her backside, the claw tip of the thumb snagging on and scratching the metal of the pistol tucked into her waistband.

“Lucky yer souvenir didn’t blow ya a new asshole dashin’ down those stairs.”

Wiping her lips with her hand, she turned her head to see him bent almost double, his other hand resting on the ragged holes in his jeans – over where bullets were probably lodged under the skin of his thigh.

“I only kept it so he wouldn’t wake up and shoot me –”

“Safety on?”

“Yes...”

“No prob, then.” The fingers moved, toyed with the curls at the nape of her neck. “Gotta couple options fer ya, frail. Either ya can help me mess up Vaughn, or ya can help Brys get tha fuckin’ lead outta me.”

“You didn’t … gut him already?”

“Naw, barely a scratch. I might doodle a tad longer; it’s almost as fun as Lite-Brite. Wanted t’ try somethin’ I saw in that movie  _Tha Cell_ , too. That D’Onofrio guy snipped tha Fed’s stomach with scissors an’ fished outta loop o’ small intestine. He cut an end in it, an’ pulled it out t’ wrap it ‘round a hooked rod device with a handle. Each turn o’ tha crank twined a bit more up an’ ‘round –”

“I’ll help Brys doctor you.”

“Thought ya might.”

“Now?”

“Gimme an hour t’ make Vaughn feel at home. ‘Sides, shouldn’t leave ‘im vertical like that fer long – shackles’re a tad sharp. It ain’t no fun if their hands an’ feet are severed – before I want ‘em t’ be, anyhow. Get up.”

He stepped back to allow it and then turned her to face him. Tabitha reached behind her to hand him the gun, but his arching eyebrow stopped her.

“I wasn’t going to... I thought you’d want it.”

“Do ya really think yer havin’ a piece is gonna worry me, with all tha slugs I got smashed against my bones right now? Give it t’ Perrin when ya get downstairs. Fer tha rest, do what Brys tells ya. Off ya go, like a good girl.”

She got to the end of the hall on trembling legs when he called out to her again. Pausing, she didn’t turn her body, but looked over her shoulder at him.

“Bit o’ advice fer yer uncertain future – ya oughta avoid gettin’ drunk again on my time. Hell, after we’re done playin’ doctor, ya might wanna skip breakfast. Me, I plan t’ work up an appetite, one way or ‘nother.” Winking at her, he waved a hand to dismiss her.

His dark chuckle receded as she left the master suite. She struggled with her instinct to run, unable to get the thought out of her head that it might make him give chase.

*****************************************************************

The scents in the bathroom were a heady mix of fear, lust, and bile coating the throats of two of the four people present.

Perrin was sitting on the dais steps, leaning his head against the tub. The expression on the boy’s face and the way he watched the proceedings was making his lover nervous. Technically, it was Perrin’s fault Brys had needed to find an excuse to drape a towel over his patient’s hips. The more the boy’s arousal dumped pheromones into the air, the more distracted Victor got.

Brys sat on a wooden footstool beside the long divan, a surgical scalpel and forceps in his hands. He’d already pulled the crushed bullets out of Victor’s back and now the tools were buried in the meat of his thigh.

Beside him, holding a metal basin full of the bloody mangled slugs was the skirt – looking progressively greener. She had kept her eyes locked on his feet for three hours straight unless Brys asked her to hand him something.

Lying still for all of this was harder sometimes than at others, and this wasn’t turning out to be one of the easy times. Doing his back first had been planned – get some of the worst over early on.

He closed his eyes briefly, but after a jumbled flood of nightmare images invading his thoughts threatened to crack his self-control, he opened them and fell to studying the people around him again.

“Some of those bullets are big,” the skirt said. “Why not just grab a pair of pliers and really go to town?”

Snarling at her, Victor retracted his claws reflexively.

“What did I do?” she asked, wide-eyed as she met his glare.

Brys huffed out a breath. “It’s best not to mention that word; we don’t keep those in this house.”

“Who is this Vaughn, Mr. Creed?” Perrin asked, just in time to pull his thoughts off of rending the stupid girl into strips.

“Knew ‘im in Vancouver, before he was workin’ fer Rothenberg. He’d just started out doin’ contracts, but never hit ‘is stride; then he ended up bein’ that useless prick’s lap dog.”

“So, is this personal somehow, with him?” the skirt asked.

“Naw, I just enjoy rewardin’ extreme stupidity with excessive violence. Anybody dumb ‘nuff  t’ get taken in by that fake asshole’s evil overlord act needs t’ be removed from tha gene pool. Call it a public service.”

Silence tried to sweep the room, but their heartbeats were too loud. The metallic tink and crunch of slugs falling into the bowl jangled on his taught nerves, along with the smooth punching noise of the scalpel breaking his skin over and over. The forceps, cool at first, had been warmed in the heat of his sliced flesh.

 _Without tha adamantium, I woulda broken bones this round. Never a scratch on tha metal, though. Too bad Pa never met tha man ‘is li’l boy grew up t’ be._ It was a few moments before he noticed that he was growling low under his breath.

As Brys moved to his forearm, Victor’s body abruptly began to tremble. When he realized it, it made him angrier, deepening the growl. Brys handed the forceps to the skirt, advising her to be fast in giving the instrument back to him. Waiting for her nod, he gently grasped Victor’s thick wrist.

“It’s only one, sir, likely lodged between the bones. I’ll be quick,” he murmured, his eyes asking for permission to continue.

“See that ya are,” he responded through clenched teeth.

Such a small blade, yet it was nearly as sharp as the runt’s claws and he hissed as it bit into his arm above the wrist. Snarling, his lips lifted away from the fangs, his jaw dropping slightly.

_Sharp as claws, claws like blades, sharp as an axe blade..._

The sound that tore from his throat when the bullet was snatched and yanked loose was not something any human could make.

A moment later, it was answered from the dim hall beyond. His stomach twisting, he forced himself to breathe deeply when Brys released him. Belatedly answering the snow leopard, he growled and chuffed at her, trying to reassure her.

“Should I shut the door?” the boy asked.

“No. She has t’ see me takin’ it, see that I’m allowin’ it. She’s got int’ tha habit o’ chewin’ on folks that make me mad – rather she didn’t start chewin’ on any o’ ya. Gotta curb tha people-eatin’ habit anyway, before I cut ‘er loose.”

Keeping up with his original orders, Brys moved on without a pause to Victor’s stomach, dropping three more hunks of metal into the skirt’s bowl in rapid succession. A few more had ended up inside healed vital organs, and as he directed Brys to them, the pain was enough to make him want to shred the divan. He didn’t – afraid he’d end up in flesh, not just upholstery.

Pheromones surged, still a welcome distraction. “Can I do … anything … for you, to make it easier?” the boy asked.

Perrin was on whiskey and coffee detail, occasionally bringing more towels. Most of the time, he had little to do while Brys dug out bullets, so he tended to end up doing what he was surprisingly good at: drinking in the sight of his boss.

“We outta Glenfiddich yet?” Victor watched the boy shift uncomfortably on the marble steps and smirked.

“Not by a long shot. I think Brys bought every bottle in the country.”

 _That boy’s pole’s gonna be ready t’ swing on before long. Shit, so’s mine – if I don’t end up skippin’ down memory lane ‘til my ears bleed. Bet I know an even better distraction, though._ Turning his head, he stared down the length of his nude and blood-smeared body at the skirt and the cook-turned-surgeon. Catching Brys slumping a little as he started in on his ribcage, Victor let a smile stretch his lips. “Yer gonna fall int’ one o’ those holes, Brys. Teach tha frail how t’ do it an’ take a breather.”

“I can’t,” she whispered, horrified.

“Sure ya can, it’s fer a good cause – first aid, not butchery. Come on, Ms. Nightingale, yer up at bat.”

“Why not Perrin –”

“He’s gotta go bring me ‘nother bottle. ‘Sides, if he got over here an’ stuck ‘round fer long, we’d end up educatin’ ya both. Then I’d get my priorities mixed up an’ before ya know it, I’d be tryin’ t’ sleep full o’ lead. Go on,” he told Perrin, “an’ keep some distance ‘round our guest; she’s still feelin’ as hissy as me.”

The boy’s answering smirk made his blood burn and he followed the slender form out with hungry eyes – eyes that caught the curled lip on the skirt’s face.

“Don’t tell me ya disapprove,” he told her, sniffing again as her fear stink doubled. “Ain’t tha X-crowd all ‘bout acceptin’ folks fer their diff’rences? Wouldn’t have guessed ya were homophobic, Tabitha.”

“You’re bullshitting me,” she muttered. “You know I don’t care about that.”

Victor hissed again as the scalpel bit in under his ribs in a new place, but then chuckled at her. “Fine, call my bluff an’ wreck my fun. Truth is, willin’ can be a major turn-on … when it ain’t yer brand o’ willin’.”

“What’s the difference?”

“Lyin’ still an’ holdin’ yer breath, wracked with terror, ain’t quite tha Webster’s definition o’ willin’, girl – not that it don’t pique my interest just tha same.”

“They said – you said – not to try to be … nice … to you. It just made you angry!”

“‘Nice’? Let’s pretend we’re all fuckin’ adults here. Ain’t much ya could do t’ change how I’ll do ya, though, so never mind. Fact is, tha more I’m stuffin’ ‘im, tha less I’m stuffin’ ya, so I woulda figured ya’d be a fan o’ ‘im gettin’ me goin’. What’s with tha sneer?”

“He just bugs the crap out of me, that’s all. Watching you get stabbed gets him off? I find myself wondering if you give out merit badges for sadistic cruelty around here. Sorry, Brys.”

“Leave me out of it, please, I’m a little busy.”

Victor snagged the metal bowl out of the skirt’s hands, rattling its contents. “Now she’s gonna be busy fer a while. Hand ‘er tha tools, show ‘er how.” Smug when she realized it wasn’t a request, he told her, “Tha boy’s turned on by power, frail. Endurin’ this is just ‘nother form o’ it, far as he’s concerned.”

“I hear he had an upbringing like ours,” she retorted, huffing out a breath as she reached for the tools Brys was holding out to her.

“We ain’t gonna talk ‘bout that shit right now.”

“Um, don’t I need … latex gloves? Like on the forensics shows?”

Brys smiled slightly. “His healing factor negates that necessity.”

“Yeah, frail, nothin’ nasty can live in my blood – also means ya can’t gimme any unsavory diseases after ya been rollin’ ‘round in tha weeds with scrawny blonde X-trash – or ‘is best friend.”

“Great line to take after telling me to cut into your chest.”

“Bring it, girl; we’ll see who ends up cuttin’ who in tha most interestin’ places.”

Brys cleared his throat to interrupt any retort she planned to make. “It’s usually easier soon after the injury to see where the bullets are; otherwise, Mr. Creed can tell you where if you’ve missed one. After enough time has passed, they can work deeper in as he moves; that makes it harder to see the lump of a bullet under the skin, as well as harder to extract it.”

“Harder on him? I don’t really have a problem with that.”

“You might,” Brys answered, before Victor could get his two cents in. “Part of this involves Mr. Creed being conscious and willing during the procedure. The more traumatic the extraction, the more the risk.”

“Risk to him.”

“No, Tabitha – to you – and to us.”

“What he’s tryin’ t’ sugarcoat fer ya is that I gotta habit o’ comin’ up offa this chair an’ bitin’ tha hand that doctors me if I lose it from tha pain. Fer me, it means I gotta dig ‘em out myself, but fer tha doc, it’s a bit more tricky.”

“Didn’t we establish that pain is your BFF? It’s your longest running successful relationship, right? Your towel’s been proof enough since we started.”

Victor glared at her, a frown threatening to become a snarl. “I can’t speak fer ‘im,” he gestured at his crotch, “he gets inspired however he’s gonna. Got ‘nuff  bad shit in my head, though, t’ make me cranky regardless o’ what he’s up t’ or up fer. Heightened senses are dandy, frail, but sometimes they’re a bitch – an’ some pain triggers tha kind o’ shit that’ll get me on a rampage before I know I’ve slaughtered tha whole fuckin’ room.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah, oh. By tha by, anymore cracks ‘bout relationships an’ upbringin’ while yer diggin’ ‘round in me ain’t a good idea. Got it?”

“I’ve got it.”

“Any fuckin’ time yer ready, frail.”

Brys talked her through the typical V cut he’d used for years and the finer points of how to grasp the smashed slugs with the forceps.

As Victor had suspected, her distaste, terror and general medical horror while going bullet hunting in his chest was sufficiently entertaining to keep his darker demons at bay.

By the time Perrin handed him a fresh bottle of whiskey and passed another cup of coffee to Brys, their patient was able to relax and allow his towel to get ever more obscene.

~ ~ ~

The bed was warm, more due to the curl of the snow leopard against his back than the fire in the hearth. With every indrawn breath, he scented her clean wild aroma and the lingering perfume of the boy’s release mixed with his own.

To put the cat at ease, he’d sent the boy downstairs to sort out the weapons haul and given instructions that the skirt should help them. When it was all carted to the armory, they were free to nap themselves, if they wanted to.

Across the room on the table, the devastated breakfast tray still sat. Brys wouldn’t come to collect it while he was sleeping.

 _Why tha bloody hell ain’t I sleepin’?_  Taking another sniff and peering over at the slant of the sun coming in through the open window, he registered that he’d been out cold most of the day already. “Huh. Well, shit...” Giving in to a vague restlessness, he sat up, one hand stroking the growl out of the cat in apology. “Sorry, darlin’ – a man can only lie horizontal so long.”

Moving over to the table and sitting down, he finished off the wine bottle on the tray and stretched into a slump in the chair. Claws retracting, he scratched at his whiskered cheeks thoughtfully. The doors to his suite were open – probably for the cat to come and go as she pleased, though he didn’t remember making that decision. Waking hadn’t cleared much of the fog in his brain, either.

Somewhere between spearing the boy after breakfast and the first round of healing-induced sleep, he’d been tormented by all of the old nightmares. It was a strange thing to consider a pleasant change, except that for the last month all he’d dreamed of was a cataclysmic plague that had been thwarted by one simple twist of his big hands.

_What if those zombie whitecoats were lyin’ all along, an’ she wasn’t gonna get sick? Tha whole story o’ mistakenly infectin’ ‘er in tha lab coulda been a ruse..._

Growling, he stood and gripped the bottle in a white-knuckled fist. Walking over to the long and low fireplace, he stood still for a few breaths. When he moved, he barely knew beforehand what he intended to do; in the next second, the bottle was thrown against the back stone wall of the fireplace.

Victor watched the fire plume up, watched it settle again. The glass, like his soul, lay shattered and glistening, licked by flames.

“Victor?”

Disbelief pierced his pain. He wanted to be angry that the girl had dared to come, but he was too exhausted to care.

“This ain’t a good time t’ be here, Tabitha.”

“I heard the glass break; I wanted to see that you were … that you … were … okay...” As he turned to face her, her words trailed away, her face paling.

“After last night, ya think a li’l smashed glass means I’m gonna be in mortal peril? Figured, if I was, ya’d have yer pom poms out instead.”

It took a lot of guts to form words through the fear that was closing her throat. He … admired it.

“Maybe, but I can’t shake the idea that there could be … some good in you.”

“Yer kiddin’, right?”

“You know, buried deep – really, really, deep. Haven’t you ever ended up doing the proverbial right thing? Or some sort of ‘save the world’ thing, even by accident?”

Victor winced at the memory of a crack – the sound of a neck snapped in his hands. “Matter o’ fact, I gotta few o’ those shameful secrets t’ hide – ain’t gonna share ‘em with ya, though.”

He turned his head at a soft noise of movement behind him in time to see his guest jumping up to slip out of the open window.

“Want me to take the tray down to the kitchen?”

“No – ya chose t’ open a can o’ worms, so let’s go fishin’. After all tha shit ya seen here, why ya still think ya can turn me int’ a caped fuckin’ crusader?”

“It’s got nothing to do with capes or torture tables. You had the same kind of childhood I did. I changed – so can you.”

“Same kind o’... Frail, ya got no idea what hell I come up from. Daddy got drunk an’ beat ya? Yeah, I’ll give ya that, so did mine. Did yers ever take a whip t’ yer back before ya were seven, fer stealin’ food?”

Her fingers rose to her lips. “N-no... Oh, God...” She gulped, but stood her ground even when his low growl sounded between them. “He really did put you in a trap of some sort, didn’t he? You had to chew off...”

Anger mixed with a sadistic glee filled him.  _What tha fuck? Cueball probly told ‘er all sorts o’ shit ‘bout me already after he picked it outta my brain._  “That was a long time later – after a sentence o’ bein’ locked up in tha root cellar like a dog. Oh, not fer nothin’, there’d been blood on tha floor prior. Sick fuck got tha idea o’ beatin’ tha evil outta me, an’ when that didn’t work, he started bringin’ tha pliers down t’ take out my fangs an’ claws.”

“He … tried to do that with pliers?”

“Not tried, frail, did – more’n once. They weren’t tha same as tha li’l fancy tools ya got ‘round these days, neither. They had uglier ones in tha 1800s. Healin’ factor wasn’t as quick then, neither – got no protein t’ feed it anyhow. After I kept chewin’ through tha rope on my collar, Pa found an old pair o’ slave shackles an’ chains in tha ruins o’ a farm near us. Couldn’t chew those. Once he found a muzzle, couldn’t chew shit.”

“Your forearm, he did something –”

“Hacked my hands off with tha axe after he got tired o’ yankin’ tha claws out by tha root.” The infuriating girl began to cry; it made his blood boil. Memories threatened to drown him, too – the crunch of the axe, his mother’s cry, when... “Ya gonna pity me, girl? Might hafta give ya a reason not t’ do that.”

“Don’t you see? You were a kid and they did that to you, you didn’t have a choice! They should have loved you and instead they made you what you are!”

With a snarl, he crossed the room in three strides and grabbed her bandaged throat in one big hand, yanking her against his naked body and glaring down into her tearful face. Watching her eyes, his fingers began to squeeze.

Her little hands lifted to grasp his wrists, but her feet only dangled. The lack of a fight for her life made him drop her to the floor.

“Victor, please, I’m sorry...”

“What am I, frail?”

She looked up at him in confusion, her hands on her slowly bruising neck.

Shouting, he repeated, “What am I?”

“A mutant … who was a child … who shouldn’t have been treated like that.”

“Wrong. I’m a killer, a psychopath. Homicidal maniac’s ‘nother label they all like. I’m told psychiatry is still tryin’ t’ catch up just t’ figure out what tha hell t’ call what’s wrong with me. Now, what am I?”

“A man, who grew up hurt, who was a child they should have loved.”

Victor dropped to one knee and wrapped his fingers in her curls, twisting her head hard on her neck. “First man I killed was a doctor who came t’ tha house cuz I was sick all tha time, right before tha change. That kid ya think I was bit ‘is jugular! Killed three lawmen at thirteen, slaughtered twenty people before I turned sixteen! I’m gonna ask just one more time, an’ ya better get it right! What am I?”

“No, Victor, no. That’s what they made you, not what you have to be. You were their son. They should have –”

“I killed their son! My elder brother – I ripped ‘is throat out fer nothin’! After that, I wasn’t even their dog. Ma died cuz o’ me, too. She jumped in front o’ ‘is axe when he was gonna put it across my neck! After he threw me back in tha cellar in tha chains, I chewed my fuckin’ hand off an’ got outta that hellhole.”

“They were sick; they should have loved you. Your father should have loved you –”

“First thing I did was stretch that devil’s innards all over tha house an’ yard! I’m a killer, always have been, nothin’ t’ do with those … those –”

“Victor, please...”

Growling, he snatched her up off of the floor. When she saw that he was carting her to the bed, she began to kick and fight. That stopped after he threw her down and landed a punch in her stomach.

As she lay there gasping, he grabbed the little tube that was still on the nightstand and made sure she was watching, wide-eyed, as he greased his cock. A few hard pulls got it the rest of the way up.

“Think of your mother, then,” she babbled, trying foolishly to reason with him. “She tried to save you!”

“That fuckin’ bitch stood by an’ watched ‘im work all tha time, wringin’ ‘er hands an’ beggin’ ‘im t’ stop, but not doin’ shit t’ make ‘im stop. She coulda run off with me, or just stoved ‘is head in with a cast iron fryin’ pan, huh? All she had t’ do was cut me loose! Cunt didn’t fuckin’ do a thing!”

“She died for you!”

“Yeah? Guess how much good she was t’ me dead? ‘Bout as much as she was breathin’!”

He popped his claws, grabbed her by the belt Brys had given her and flipped her on her belly. She cried out when he cut the belt and began to shred her jeans. Kicking once, she made one of his claws stab into her inner thigh.

“Ya don’t hold still, I’ll just rend yer flesh – ain’t gonna slow me down, frail.”

After another shallower stab, she stopped struggling, her sobs growing loud. Breathing in the miasma of her horror, he tore out the back of her jeans in one grab. Straddling her bleeding legs, not caring about stripping her, he reached under her hips with one hand and pulled them up. Cock pressed against her thigh, he set his thumb between her ass cheeks and aimed the claw, pressing the tip of it into the tiny clenching hole.

“Gotta pref’rence, bitch? Ya can have my thumb in there, or my dick. I’ll even retract tha claw fer ya.”

She fell still and quiet and endured the invasion in a way that made him smirk. He worked it good, getting her loose, slow and sweet. It was worth it to do – worth seeing her terrified submission and smelling the flush of humiliation and shame as he probed and opened her.

“Gettin’ there nice an’ easy, girl – how ‘bout tha claw now?”

“Don’t!” she brayed, her hands trying to reach his legs, as if her little manicured nails might hurt him.

“Don’t? Fine, yer gettin’ tha other.” Grinning, he moved his hand and grasped his slippery cock, lined it up and pushed it in. The vicious pull as the tiny muscle yanked his foreskin back made him hiss.

It was only the head, but he hadn’t opened her quite enough for his girth and her scream was exquisite. Still holding her up at the hips, his other arm stretched under her, the fingers finding her breasts. The kneading grip there would bruise, the claws snagging in shirt and skin.

“Let it happen, girl. If ya relax, it might stop hurtin’ so fuckin’ bad. I can work an ass as good as a pussy – that’s why tha boy’s so loyal … so eager.”

“Please stop!”

“Shoulda thought o’ that before ya made me mad.”

Shifting his other hand to her lower back, he held her still and thrust in deeper. The smell of her blood running down her thigh made his sack twitch. A little deeper in and she might start bleeding inside, too, even with all that lube. She was tight, cherry tight, and so small and delicate, it would be hard not to break her once he really got going.

Ignoring her sobs and pleading voice, he spread his knees a little wider and pulled back some before pushing in again. The stunning grip on his shaft took his breath away, the pleasure it was already giving him starting a shudder in his gut.

“Hold up yer own carcass, I’m not gonna do all tha work. Quit tryin’ t’ scratch me an’ put yer arms down, or I’ll snap yer neck – ya wouldn’t believe how much practice I’ve had with that lately.”

Sobbing harder, she obeyed. Not having to support her now, he gripped her hips and thrust in farther again. The wounds on her hips from their first lesson were still bandaged, but they smelled like good scabs were growing in there. Just to avoid messing up Brys’s doctoring job, he decided he’d try not to reopen them this time around. Even so, he didn’t retract his claws; he rarely did and the occasional prick of them was good for keeping her on her best behavior.

Another thrust, back and in, made him groan. He didn’t try to bury himself, sure he’d get carried away and end up snapping her pelvis if he managed it at all.

“Good news, girl – this ain’t gonna take long.”

Almost on the heels of his words and one more push, the prediction came true. The ripping heat of it made him thrust up into her deeper once more and her fresh scream was a perfect counterpoint to his guttural roar.

He pulled out fast, chuckling when it made her scream again. As he thought, it came out a little bloody, but not enough to send her to the kitchen for more first aid.

Flopping onto his back, he stretched out and let the impressive aftershocks take his nerves for a ride.

The skirt tried to roll away, but his claws pricking lightly in her shoulder stopped her.

“Ain’t done with ya yet. Wail if ya want, but yer stayin’ here.”

“Please … just let me go...”

“If I get up now, I’m gonna go straight up ‘through tha lookin’ glass’, an’ turn Vaughn int’ Alice. Ya gotta chance t’ prevent that, Tabitha, so strap on yer cape an’ save a life – by fuckin’ me some more. Once I catch my breath. Damn, that’s a sweet li’l orifice ya got. ‘Spose I oughta let it heal up a bit, though. Whattaya think?”

“I think I’m bleeding...”

“Yup. It smells delicious. Might wanna pull yerself together; if I get bored, I’m gonna go kill that bastard upstairs.”

She was silent, though her tears still fell. When she spoke again, her voice was small, frightened, and rough from crying. “What you said about ‘curbing the cat’s people-eating habit’ – does that mean you’ll stop, too?”

A wide grin stretched his lips. “Naw. I’m more o’ a ‘do what I say, not what I do’ sorta guy.” Rolling to his side, he used his claws to cut the remains of her clothes off of her. She started to struggle, but one hand on her back, pressing down, stopped that shit. “Need t’ see how deep that wound is; I already know yer other holes ain’t deep ‘nuff .”

That got her crying again, but it was more background noise than annoying once he focused on the claw puncture on her inner left thigh. The right leg was barely scratched and no longer bleeding.

His other hand spread her knees, and then he leaned down over her and let his tongue slip out to lick at the wound. The moment it touched her, she froze.

Victor found it difficult to concentrate on wound care with her blood on his tongue, but it wasn’t a deep puncture and he’d missed all of the important arteries and veins.

She sniffed and he was intrigued by her efforts to calm down, considering the roller coaster her fear was on. Most likely, she believed the threat about Vaughn.

“You’re joking about … eating people … right?”

He licked the wound again and pressed his tongue against it until it stopped bleeding. Remembering that she’d asked a question, he replied, “Nope, not jokin’. I usually go fer tha sweetbreads; organ meat’s richer an’ feeds tha healin’ factor faster’n anythin’ else.”

“I may be sick.”

“Ya gotta dilemma, then. Ain’t lettin’ ya up outta here while yer breathin’, not ‘til I got my fill o’ ya, an’ if ya barf in my bed, yer gonna die in it next.” Grinning again, he added, “Still think I got some fuckin’ good in me?”

He heard her indrawn breath to reply, but then she expelled it. Odds were, she was too stubborn to give up that idiotic notion just yet, but at least she was getting smart enough to keep quiet about it.

Inspired by her prone position and the proximity of his tongue, he flicked it over her pussy. Her gasp made him chuckle. Repeating the motion, he settled into the task with a will and didn’t stop until she’d come for him three times.

When he rose up onto his knees to roll her over with the bat of a palm to her shoulder, she surprised him by reaching for the lube. Flushing a bright pink, she started to hand it to him.

“Huh. Havin’ a change o’ heart?”

“I... You’re … I’ve never been... You’re stunning.”

“Lie t’ me some more, girl.” He kept his palms on his hips and arched an eyebrow at her.

“I want to get out of this room alive.”

“Yeah, an’ so..?”

“So I’d like another shot at ‘willing’, if … that won’t get me killed.”

“Under duress, still, though. What tha hell, we’ll give it a shot. Do that yerself – in tha spirit o’ willin’.”

Her fingers shook when she squeezed a generous glop into her palm, tossed the tube aside as he had and reached for his cock. Judging by the wince as she shifted her weight, she was still in pain, but that just made him more ready.

Once or twice, her touch was borderline gentle, inspiring a low growl. “He likes it rough, ya know – unlike those X-babies.” The grip she took on the heels of that made him suck in his breath. “Hoo, yeah – just like that!”

“Sorry, I’m used to –”

“Infants, tha lot o’ ‘em. Unless ya ever boned tha runt?”

“Of course not!”

Victor laughed. “Aw, shucks. I was gonna ask ya t’ compare.”

“Yeah, no thanks. There’s only one answer for surviving that question.”

“Probly. Tell ya tha truth, I get real tired o’ hearin’ all that ‘best there is at what I do’ bullshit.” Huffing out a breath, he frowned. “Sure had Red stuck on ‘im, though. Bastard. Be awful sweet t’ plow that bitch – iron tits, big as melons.”

“They aren’t … like that.”

“What ain’t, ‘er tits? Didn’t smell like no silicone t’ me.”

“Ah ... I meant ... she loves Cyclops.”

“Uh-huh. Keep tellin’ yerself that. If she ain’t spread ‘em fer tha runt yet, she will. As fer One-Eye, she’s probly just givin’ ‘im pity access.”

She opened her mouth to retort, but he leaned in and stuck his tongue in it, pressing her down with his chest. When she began to respond to it, he allowed the kiss to deepen, trying not to chuckle and wreck it. The next things she opened were her legs, without him having to pull them apart. In spite of that, her heat still surprised him.

“Startin’ t’ smell like ya want this… Did ya know that?”

Her hands lifted, hesitated, and then touched his shoulders, the palms sliding down his arms. “I wasn’t lying before,” she whispered. “When you aren’t hurting me … you are stunning...”

“Yeah – I know.”

“Humble, too.”

His eyes narrowed, studying her slight, nervous smile and warming scent for defiance or mockery. Deciding it must be her so-called survivalist bravado, he let it slide. “Humility’s a virtue – I don’t do virtues. Patience, fer instance – got no use fer that, neither.”

Victor set himself against her the moment he moved to lie between her legs, thrusting up and most of the way in at once. Her fingers clutched at him, her face showing a twist of pain as his thrusts rocked her pelvis.

Putting his weight on one hand beside her head, he groped her breasts, flexing his fingers back to avoid slicing her flushed skin.

Catching her wincing again, he ordered, “Put yer knees up; it’ll be easier.” As she did so, it changed his angle inside, making her gasp with pleasure. “Told ya.”

“Victor,” she whispered, her eyes closing. They flew open fast when he growled in her face.

“Slip int’ that cutesy shit an’ ‘nice’ is gonna go right out tha window, frail!”

“I-I’m sorry...”

“It’s sex, fuckin’, or makin’ babies – any title ya like – but start actin’ like yer ‘makin’ love’, an’ I switch holes, got it?”

Wide-eyed, she nodded, a jolt a fear stink flooding the sweet smell of her arousal.

“‘Course, if yer still frettin’ ‘bout babies, buggerin’ ya is a better way t’ prevent ‘em. I sure as hell ain’t got no damn rubbers, wouldn’t bother if I did.” Smirking down at her, he added, “Cat got yer tongue again?”

“Anything I say makes you angry.”

“Mmm, good point. Tell ya what – it’s safe as houses t’ tell me how blow-yer-mind pretty I am.”

“There’s the vanity Brys mentioned.”

Victor laughed. “Yer right, why dwell on tha obvious. Ya can also safely tell me how I’m makin’ ya regret all those worthless boys ya used t’ screw, even if their skinny pricks fit in ya easier.”

Altering both his angle and speed at once, then more than once, his smirk widened to a Cheshire grin as she wrapped her legs around his hips and moaned, biting her lower lip. Her muscles contracted tightly, rippling along his shaft. At the same time, her eyes filled with tears.

“Fuckin’ females – comin’ an’ cryin’ at once. Got somethin’ t’ say, frail?”

“Only that you’re right...”

Her fingers slipped into his hair, then through it, ending stroking down his back as far as she could reach. Tracing the muscles there and playing with the ridge of longer fur that ran between his shoulder blades along his spine on the way back up, her hands moved to his arms again, kneading the bunched and sweat-slick biceps.

“What am I right ‘bout, Tabitha?” he whispered, amusement heavy in his voice as he shifted slightly to duck his head down, the tip of his tongue tapping at and swirling around her nipples.

She gasped, arching her back as far as she could with him pressing down over her. “You are making me regret them … all of them – God help me...”

“Surprise, surprise,” he answered, and chuckled wickedly. Capturing her mouth, he swallowed her next moan as he made her come again.

~ ~ ~

The second time he dropped onto his back beside her, he didn’t protest or stop her when she sat up.

“I’m not leaving,” she assured him.

“Nope, yer not.”

“Can I … I mean, if … you don’t mind…?” Her little hands were poised over his chest.

Grunting, Victor closed his eyes and tucked one arm under his head. “Don’t care if ya wanna pet me. Fair warnin’ though, if yer gettin’ sore – ya run tha risk o’ startin’ tha motor back up.”

She didn’t reply and the hesitant touch was far too light to get him anywhere. She explored more boldly as he remained still and didn’t watch her. Fingernails ran against the grain of the gold fur that traced his muscles, though she was sticking to the chest, stomach, and arms. She seemed fascinated by the thick patch of it at the center of his chest that radiated out, growing shorter and less dense over his pectorals. He liked it better when she petted the soft curling fur that trailed in a line from his navel to his dick.

“Can I ask you a question?”

“Depends – there a cape in it?”

“No.”

“Shoot.”

“Why were your eyes blue – and normal – in the Danger Room?”

Opening one slightly glowing amber slit to study her, he frowned. “Born with baby blues, frail; tha snazzy amber’s a side effect o’ my mutant attributes. It kicked in when I hit tha century mark.”

“Was that creepy? It would freak me out.”

“Bit o’ a mixed blessin’, I guess – harder t’ pass fer human when a job called fer it, back in my CIA days. That was tha Cold War, though. In tha 1940s, lookin’ like I crawled outta a bad fairytale all blonde an’ blue-eyed, made me some interestin’ allies in high places – ‘til tha stupid fuckers lost.”

“Wolverine’s eyes haven’t changed like that. Isn’t he the same age?”

Victor grunted, feeling too lazy to growl at the name. “Nope. Far’s I know, I gotta few years on tha runt. ‘Sides, he’s always tryin’ t’ deny ‘is true nature – does weird shit t’ ya. One o’ tha reasons I beat ‘im down so often is cuz I let myself get as tough an’ feral as I’m gonna, fast as that mutant gene wants t’ change me. Runt keeps standin’ on tha brakes.”

“Oh. So when your eyes changed back…?”

“Had a few connectors in tha brain that needed a chance t’ heal up, remember? If tha healin’ factor gets overloaded, it starts t’pick an’ choose a tad.” Closing the eye, he stretched and settled. “Feel free t’ get t’ tha fun bits.”

On cue, her hand stroked his sack, the thicker blonde fur nested on and around it petted and toyed with. Being far more careful than she had to be, she slid her hand under and lifted his sack on her palm, feeling the weight of it. She released it when her attentions made his cock twitch.

“Well, you’re not a bottle blonde.”

Chuckling, he answered, “My cuffs an’ collars match. Jealous?”

“It’s all soft fur, not wiry pubic hair. Why is it thicker and longer in some places? It stands up when you’re mad or startled.”

“Those got what’s called a piloerection function – hackles, like on a Halloween cat. They do that fer lotsa reasons: mad, spooked, overexcited…”

“Wow, you do read books.”

“Like ya never tried t’ figure out why tha fuck yer body can produce plasma bombs? Ask me, that’s way weirder than bein’ furry.”

“Would you really have … um, fucked me … while you were healing from your lobotomy?”

“Yup.”

“But you seemed like a child – I felt so guilty for ‘petting’ you because of that.”

“Not a child, Tabitha, a feral creature. More reasons than one fer a lack o’ speech.”

“So … why didn’t you?”

“Complainin’ now, or are ya just gettin’ too comfortable? Did ya forget how this romp started? I know that ass is still bleedin’ some.”

“Oh, I hate you, don’t worry, but I’ve … always been curious about you. I can’t seem to help it. Since I’m supposed to be company to stay alive, I may as well ask my questions.”

“Hmph. Ya didn’t signal bein’ ready t’ mate. Beast in me, he don’t always know ‘is own strength, that he don’t need t’ ask t’ get. Tha more feral he is, tha more cat-like he gets. Females, like my furry guest, are real able t’ put tha hurt on a male she don’t want. An injured cat can’t hunt, means he’s gonna die; ain’t worth pissin’ off tha ladies t’ not take no fer an answer. It’s all instinct, girl.”

“I suspect the man in you doesn’t have a single qualm about rape. Call it a hunch.” Belying the sarcastic anger in her tone, her hands were gentle on his half-asleep cock. Warm breath from her words puffed over the head, waking it up a little more.

Victor opened his eyes and watched her touch him. “So yer a comedian now. Said we share a brain – didn’t say I agree with ‘is social instincts. ‘Sides, he did try t’ convince ya – whattaya think I was rubbin’ against ya fer?” His eyes narrowed to slits, one eyebrow arching.

Apparently inspired by his words to rub the head against her soft cheek, she replied, “I don’t know … saying thanks for the milk?”

He grabbed a fistful of her curls in an instant, a vicious snarl on his lips. For a moment of near blind rage, he couldn’t speak. The skirt had yelped and then the babbled apologies and begging began in earnest. Victor’s body folded as he sat up to hiss in her ear, his teeth bared.

“Vic-Sabretooth, please – what did I do wrong?”

Drawing in a deep breath, his rasping voice moved the curls on her cheek. “Don’t ever bring up yer fuckin’ bowls o’ milk t’ me again, ya hear me?”

Releasing her, he forced himself to lie back down before he ended up pulling her spine out of her back. Her fingers had clutched his cock in her fright and with a growl, he figured that was as good a distraction as any.

“Ya gotta real short option on finishin’ what ya started, frail.”

“I don’t understand what you...”

“Best hop on that, huh? Might make me forget how bad I wanna snuff ya right now.”

“I’m sorry for what I –”

“Told ya before – shut up an’ fuck.” Trembling all over as bad as she had when they started, she began to reach for the lube next to the tilted pillow, but he set one claw tip on the back of her hand. “After that last crack, don’t think ya earned doin’ it tha easy way. Call it yer just punishment.”

“How can you punish me when I don’t know why it upset you? I didn’t mean to upset you!”

“How would ya look without a spine?”

“If I can surprise you, in a good way, could we go back to being nice?”

“This I gotta see. Better involve gettin’ me off, though.”

“I really think it will, but you have to close your eyes and promise not to kill me for it.”

“What tha hell game ya playin’, frail?”

“Hasn’t curiosity gotten the cat yet?”

“That’s ‘killed tha cat’, ya know.” Annoyed that she had gotten him curious, he closed his eyes, hyper-senses kicking into overdrive. “Ain’t promisin’ shit.”

One sniff told him she’d stuck her fingers in her pussy and he was inclined to watch that in spite of his anger, but kept his eyes closed. One tiny hand slipped around his thigh, her blunt nails scratching, and then the hand pushing. Assuming she wanted room to get at his sack again, he allowed her to shift that leg over.

When a fingertip slick with their combined juices skimmed over the soft fur between his legs and ass cheeks and then pressed up against his anus, he snarled at her, his claws poking holes in the sheets.

“If ya dunno how t’ do that properly, frail, I’m gonna mess ya up bad.” The light pressure left him and he heard her suck in her breath, her scent abruptly saturated with anxiety.

“Yes, but are you … surprised?”

“Not yet.”

Nervously taking that as permission, the finger returned. Victor shifted his hips up slightly, not sure yet why he was allowing her to do this. A growl rumbled through his chest as it pressed inside his body, but then she crooked it, found his prostate, and succeeded in surprising him quite a bit.

His back arched before he knew it, pleasure arrowing straight to his abruptly aching cock. She worked it like a well-paid hustler and by the time she withdrew, he didn’t give a damn that she was reaching for the lube.

Her body moved, her knees stretching far apart in order to straddle his hips. Gooey fingers pumped his cock, set it in place and got out of his way as he bucked up to enter her.

The little hands slapped down on his chest and she didn’t try to sit back or move with him, so much as she simply tried to stay on.

Victor fucked up into her, almost frantic and quite rough, but she just took it, biting back her cries as much as she could. Nerves inexplicably on edge, he sought to finish quickly, swallowing his own shout when he came. The skirt fell forward, propelled there by his final thrust. Instead of trying to get away, she merely lay still, panting for breath – her hands actually stroking his sweaty chest and ribs.

Sweat glistened on her skin too, filling the air around them with the scent of both desire and discomfort. For the moment, he didn’t bother to sort out which smell came from her or himself.

He pulled his claws out of the bed and folded his arms under his head. When she started to dismount, he frowned. “Uh, uh – stay right there.” As she self-consciously crossed her arms over her now bruised and scratched breasts, the frown morphed into a smirk. “Bit silly t’ be modest now, ain’t it, while yer sittin’ on my dick?”

Her thighs were trembling. She had to keep tension in the muscles, or she’d slide down onto more of him than her body could take. “I can’t sit here like this for long,” she whispered.

“I care. Where – tha hell – did ya learn how t’ do that? Ain’t no white bread goody-two-shoes trick.”

Looking down, shame flushing her cheeks and neck where arousal had pinkened her before, she muttered, “A friend … in San Francisco. I was back with Sam, but I was still a … convenience, too often. He was all about the missions and didn’t –”

Slipping one hand free, he held up a finger and twirled it in a circle. “Skip forward; I don’t give a damn ‘bout ‘As Tha X Turns’. This friend didn’t happen t’be a hustler, did he? Paid fer ‘is valuable time?”

Glaring at him, she winced as her muscles complained. “Yes. I asked him to teach me a sure-fire trick that would get Sam’s attention and keep it.”

Victor laughed. “Make my day, Tabitha: tell me ya stuck yer finger up that Bible Belt reject’s tight li’l cornhusker ass?”

“Sorry, no. My evil plan was called on account of us dying during our next mission – sort of.”

“Probly fer tha best, cuz that trick mighta killed tha boy fer real – woulda toasted ‘is bread, at tha least.”

“You didn’t seem new to it – I suppose that cherry has sailed.”

“Darlin’, there ain’t a cherry left on me; my purity test score goes deeper int’ tha negative than they got digits fer yet.”

“Your what test?” A breath later, she asked, “Did you just call me –”

Growling, Victor twisted his hips and dumped her off of him, almost pitching her out of the wrecked bed. “Don’t get all excited over a slip o’ tha forked tongue. I call a lot o’ skirts that; just ask Rogue or yer precious Psylocke – neither o’ ‘em took it as a compliment.” Moving his leg, he nudged her closer to the edge of the mattress with the ball of his foot. “Tell Brys t’ come get tha tray.”

Curling into a roll so she could sit up without leaving the bed, she whispered, “Does this mean I can go?”

“Sure – go get me a couple o’ cold beers an’ then get yer shapely li’l bludgeoned ass back in this bed – after ya deliver tha message t’ Brys.”

“I can take it myself. He’d probably like some help in the kitchen.”

“Nice try, frail – no dice. ‘Sides, yer not gonna be movin’ real steady in yer current condition an’ it ain’t no help if he’s gotta clean up yer spills all tha time.” Amused when he noticed that she still had her boots on, with the laces wrapped tight around socks he’d cut short, he chuckled. “Off ya go.”

“You shredded my clothes.”

Without missing a beat, he widened his eyes and put on his old Danger Room innocent face. “Golly, why’d I go an’ do a mean ol’ thing like that?” He laughed at her shock. “Maybe I wanted t’ reminisce ‘bout gooey shredded ninja guts.”

“You’re a sick, filthy, murderous freak, Creed.”

“Glad t’ see yer catchin’ up.”

“You love being evil, don’t you?”

“Yup, with every inch o’ me – every greased-up, prodigious, briefly satisfied inch.”

Glaring at him again, she started to scramble angrily off of the bed, but then stopped with a grimace and moved more carefully.

“Gee, Tabitha – are ya a bit sore?”

She limped slightly, trying to hide it, and went to yank his bathrobe from the back of one of the chairs at the table. “Fuck you.”

“Well, yeah – after tha beer.” Watching her limp to the open doors, he added, “Don’t get tha notion o’ not comin’ back here.”

She didn’t answer, but he couldn’t care; whether she returned or tried to evade or hide, he had ways to turn all of those options into a good time.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sabretooth is referencing a movie in this chapter titled The Cell (2000) starring Vincent D’Onofrio as a serial killer and Vince Vaughn as an FBI agent. It is one of the most creepy yet cinematically beautiful films I’ve ever seen in the horror/thriller genre. Due to its content dealing with a boy abused by his father and the boy becoming a killer, I imagine the film would both attract and repel a man like Victor Creed. The “Golly” line is slightly altered and borrowed from Sabretooth’s canon dialogue in Uncanny X-Men # 326. Thanks to all who are reading. For those who are waiting for updates from me, I really appreciate your patience. I never seem to have as much writing time as I’d like to have. (@MET_Fic) - AnonGrimm


	6. Into the Woods

Seems I got to have a change of scene  
Cause every night I have the strangest dream  
Imprisoned by the way, yeah, it could’ve been  
Left here on my own or so it seems  
I got to leave before I start to scream  
But someone's locked the door and took the key

Feelin' alright  
I’m not feelin' too good myself  
Feelin' alright  
Not feelin' that good myself

Boy you sure took me for one big ride  
Even now I sit and I wonder why  
And when I think of you I stop myself from cryin’  
I just can’t waste my time I must get by  
Got to stop belivin' in all your lies  
Cause there’s too much to do before I die

Feelin' alright  
Not feelin' too good myself  
Oh no, Feelin' alright  
Not feelin' that good myself

Don't you get too lost in all I say  
Yeah, but at the time you know I really felt that way  
But that was then and now you know it’s today  
I can't escape I guess I'm here to stay  
’til someone comes along to take my place  
With a different name and a different face

~ Feelin’ Alright (Joe Cocker)

*****************************************************************

The kitchen was empty; the Frenchmen might still be sleeping off the long night of bullet extraction. As she turned to go to one of the refrigerators next to the walk-in freezer, her eye fell on a trash bin in the corner, next to a short hallway.

Her mind flashed to the memory of Perrin taking the garbage to a burn pile out back – through the small door at the end of that hallway.

Limping to it as quickly as she could move, she paused at the start of the hallway when something dark on the wall over the door caught her eye. Dread dumped adrenaline into her blood when she recognized the rectangular metal thing mounted there, full of wires and lights.

 _The lights aren’t on and it’s not humming; he said he was keeping most things off because of Goshana._  Inching in spite of that, Tabitha held her breath as she approached the door. She grasped and turned the doorknob – cursing under her breath when it was locked.

Terror filled her as she lifted a finger to the brass knob, but she didn’t give herself time to think. With a flash, a sliver of plasma shot out the lock. Tearing the door open, she got out from under the hideous metal thing as fast as she could and limped into the frozen world outside.

Closing the door with shaking fingers, she pulled the long bathrobe up higher to let the excess material flop over the sash. She secured the sash with a double knot and slunk off, circled the burn pile, and took off running in her boots and Creed’s robe, refusing to question the insanity of the choice.

Pain in her pelvic region as she ran stole her breath, nearly making her gag. The cold entered her lungs as fast as it began to creep into her body, freezing her extremities in no time. Letting terror give her speed, she pushed herself harder, knowing that just leaving the house meant Creed would likely kill her when he found her.

_He will find me … oh, God, why didn’t I wait until he fell asleep, or let me go back to my room? No! Stop it! You could die waiting for that monster to get tired of hurting you!_

Tabitha headed down out of the Selwyn Mountains, trying to remember which way the road had been.

 _How high up am I? Was the fucking kitchen door halfway up the damn mountainside?_  When she thought she heard a noise behind her, she tripped while looking back. Yelping, she tumbled head over heels into the snow. Fetching up in a deep snow bank piled against a trio of trees, she lay still a moment, panting.  _Crap! That’s great; why not snap a leg to go with your broken ass? Make it easy for him when he comes to tear your throat out!_

She started to struggle up and then fell back again at the unmistakable sound of someone moving through the trees.

_That’s not Sabretooth – who?_

Rolling so she could peek back up the mountain, she was shocked to see two men in heavy arctic gear with bright orange coats decorated with red and blue stripes on the sleeves walking through the trees just a dozen yards over her head. They had hunting rifles resting on their shoulders, but the best part was that she recognized the color scheme of their coats – they were rentals from Faro, same as hers had been.

 _Tourist hunters – maybe with snowmobiles?_  “Hey! Help!”

They turned immediately, shouting in surprise.

“It’s a girl,” one of them said.

“Maybe it’s the one Eddy said went missing?”

“Hey,” the other man called back to her as they started toward her, “you that city girl, from out of Faro?”

“Yes!” As they came down toward her, she felt tears sting her eyes. She struggled to stand again, her limbs almost frozen stiff.

The men reached her quickly, the taller one dropping his rifle and stripping off his coat to put it around her. They were older, over sixty at least, but they looked surprisingly tough.

_Like years with Cable didn’t prove silver hair doesn’t mean a man’s weak. These guys remind me of Wolverine, though. Maybe they were soldiers? Soldiers would be better against Sabretooth than just weekend warriors._

“Put that on, okay? We can help you.”

“What the hell are you doing in that?” the other one asked.

“She’s hurt, look! What happened to you, hon?”

“Please, there’s a man, he’s very dangerous – we have to get out of here! Do you have a snowmobile, or something? Anything?”

“Sure, a bit down out of the mountains. Zip that up and we’ll get you back to Faro, okay?”

Tabitha shook as she zipped the coat, unable to get very far. The man who had given it to her gently moved her hands and zipped it for her.

“Thank you...”

“Come on, hon, no time to waste. Surprised you didn’t freeze to death. Grab my rifle, Ben. Your name’s Smith, right?”

“Tabitha Smith.”

“Well, that’s Ben Breckenridge, I’m Ron Snyder.”

“They – the people from Faro – they’ve been looking for me?”

“Yeah, we all have – search party’s way off base, though. They’ve been looking in the Anvil Range and the Pelly Mountains. Eddy, guy from Faro’s sports rentals, he’s had everyone on the lookout.”

“Um, can we hurry? This man, he’ll hunt me down – he’s nuts and really … good at tracking.”

“If he cut and bruised you up like that, I don’t think we’d mind dropping the bastard,” Ben told her. “Don’t you worry, honey.”

The memory of a metal bowl full of crushed slugs chilled her more than the bitter weather. “Please, let’s just hurry.”

“Here, then,” Ron said, and swung her up into his arms in a fireman’s carry. “You’re limping pretty badly.”

Collapsing into him, she laid her head on his shoulder and breathed a sigh. “Thank you.”

“Hey, Ron, who’s that? Guy in black down there?”

Tabitha stiffened, her mouth going dry. “Where?”

“Got to be a hunter,” Ron answered. “Stupid to wear black like that. There’s another one.”

“You! Up here,” Ben called out. “Give us a hand, huh? We found that girl!”

Tabitha shifted in Ron’s arms to look, saw the men and gasped. “Oh, no...”

Before she could warn them, a shot rang out and Ron toppled, throwing her clear as he fell.

“Sonovabitch!” Ben yelled. He dropped Ron’s rifle at his feet and lifted his to his shoulder to fire, but the men in black shot him first.

“Oh, crap, oh crap, no!” Tabitha crawled over to Ron. “Please don’t die, I’m so sorry!”

Ron opened his eyes. “Keep your head down, hon.”

She stared as he drew a pistol from under his sweater. Gasping, she flipped over and formed a large bomb in her frozen hands. Pitching it down at Rothenberg’s men, she watched as it blew them back on their asses, destroying one of their rifles.

“Damn, hon – you’re a mutant!”

“Look, these men are killers! We have to get out of sight, now. Can you run?”

“Don’t know if I can stand up! Ben? Damn it, Ben! Answer me!”

Tabitha looked and then regretted it – the shot had taken part of Ben’s skull off.

“Fuck!” Ron shouted, and looked away. “Three more of them coming. Who are these bastards?”

He didn’t wait for her to answer, but Tabitha didn’t bother. She fired bombs as he fired bullets, trying not to kill, just put them down or destroy their weapons. Ron wasn’t so particular.

“Damn it, get behind me and shoot those things, girl, now!”

He moved to roll in front of her and she saw blood in the snow where he’d been lying. Tabitha fought to rise to her knees as more men came out of the trees below them. Ron saw her move and cursed. Reaching up to grab the front of the coat, he threw her down onto her face in the snow just as the horrid sound of an assault rifle split the air.

Looking up, she saw bullets slam into his body. Screaming as the man’s blood sprayed her, she formed a massive bomb and threw it down the mountainside without caring where it landed or who it hit. In a panic, she followed it with two more, before she realized she was quickly depleting her power.

Switching to the plasma shards, she rained them down like bullets, clipping the men in the shoulders and legs. Then a long jet of flames erupted up at her, catching the edge of the bathrobe on fire.

With a shout, she stomped it and lifted her hands again, but then something struck her shoulder, the burning force of it knocking her onto her back.

_Blood … my blood..._

Fighting to keep her senses straight, she saw that the bullet had passed through her flesh, leaving a deep slash in the meat. Screaming again, this time in rage, she sat up and tossed a bomb the size of the man’s head at his hands, blowing the sniper rifle into shrapnel and setting the man’s clothes on fire.

Another shot went through the robe and she cried out when she felt it bite into her thigh. Falling back, she twisted onto her side, but the next bomb she tried to throw fizzled.

“Hold your fire,” a voice called out. Four more of them came out of the trees and the one in front spoke again. “Tabitha Smith! We’re prepared to use lethal force, unless you surrender!”

“You haven’t seen lethal force yet, you stupid fuck!” Hands poised, she tried a bluff.

His skeptical expression told her he wouldn’t fall for it. “That last one didn’t work so well – you’re tapped out.” To his men, he said, “She’s burned out. Go fetch her.”

Tabitha tried to make another bomb, but nothing happened. She’d been too weak from the start, and then she’d thrown too many too soon, without making enough of them count.

Desperate, she scrambled for Ron’s pistol as they rushed her, but when she tried to shoot the first man, the gun only clicked.

They took the pistol from her, grabbed her by the collar of the coat and tossed her onto her face. She gasped with pain and went still as many footsteps crunched up around her through the churned snow. When one of them began to pick her up, she gritted her teeth and felt a wave of blackness rolling over her. She couldn’t understand the words they spoke. Pain jolted her as she was lifted and she fell mercifully backwards into the dark.

~ ~ ~

Her face was hot, her body almost frozen stiff.  _Sunlight, on my forehead – lying on something, but down on the snow, too._  She tried to stir and felt rope cutting into her cold skin. At the sound of a zipper, her eyes flew open to see a strange man in black leering down at her. He was opening her coat – the hunter Ron’s coat – Ron and Ben, the men they’d killed. “Don’t you fucking touch me!”

He slapped her face hard, rocking her head back. “Filthy mutant. We’re going to kill you, but first you’re going to be bait for Creed.”

“Are you insane? He’ll kill you – then he’ll kill me!”

Another voice, the man who had been giving orders, spoke to her left. “He was keeping you – so you must be useful to him somehow.”

Tabitha hissed when the man leaning over her opened the bathrobe, exposing her bruised and scratched breasts. “One guess how she’s useful.”

The leader paced just out of sight, his boots crunching in the snow. “We need him out of his mind – so angry he might get sloppy. Any ideas?”

Several men laughed near them, but she couldn’t tell how many. They had tied her spread eagle, with ropes on wrists and ankles and another around her neck. She could only move her head slightly or the knot against her windpipe would tighten. The only rope end she could see was attached to her right ankle, trailing off to wrap around a tree trunk.

The man over her chuckled and reached down, his fingers pinching a frozen and aching nipple. He laughed when she screamed and he wasn’t the only one. “Mutie’s been fucking her … bet it’d make him mad if we took turns.”

Glaring up at him, she muttered through clenched teeth, “He wouldn’t care. I’m working for your boss, damn it – let me go! We’re on the same side!”

“About that,” the leader said. Moving into view, she saw that he was burned – recently. “Herr Rothenberg sent you here to kill you – since the mutie didn’t manage to do that, I imagine the job has fallen to us. Get off of her, Harris,” he ordered. “If the mutie doesn’t come for her by nightfall, you can head the line for all I care. Right now, I want all of you alert and watching for that bastard.”

Harris didn’t bother to close the robe when he moved off. Tabitha felt tears slipping down her face and fought to hang on to her senses. As preferable as passing out again might seem, she didn’t need to die of hypothermia. Searching for anything to focus on, she spoke to the leader.

“Those men you killed – they were innocent, just hunters trying to help me.”

“Wrong place, wrong time – and helping a mutie is no badge of honor.”

“Rothenberg tried to hire Creed once – did you know that?”

“Don’t waste your breath, girl – never know which one will be your last.”

“Your men shot me; I can’t be bait if I’m dead!”

“Good point. Perkins, patch her up.”

Tabitha tried to punch Perkins when they untied the ropes to doctor her, but Harris had stayed close; when he pointed a pistol at her, she stopped fighting.

~ ~ ~

The longest day of her life was being measured by the sun as it started to set. Her wounds had been crudely field dressed and Perkins had closed her bathrobe and zipped up her coat. She couldn’t feel all that grateful though – he’d already informed her he’d be in line when their leader, Manis, let them use her.

When she couldn’t stand it anymore and had to ask to be allowed to go to the bathroom, Harris watched the whole process just to humiliate her. They kept a close guard on her if she was loose, leaving the rope around her neck and using it like a leash.

She knew if Sabretooth came for them, she’d die with them, but she was starting to not care about that so much, as long as she could watch some of them die first.

Twice, they had trussed her up spread eagle again. Eventually, they’d gotten lazy and wrapped her neck rope around her instead, strapping her down hard on her feet against one thin pine tree.

Just to preserve her sanity, she tried to count them, learning names as fast as she could. It was difficult, if not impossible, with the way they kept milling and changing who had to guard her.

 _There might have been twenty of them, but Ben hit two and Ron got at least four. So that leaves maybe fourteen? Yeah, that’s too much party for me. At least we wounded some of them._ As the sun sank lower, she shivered.  _Where the hell are you?_  Her eyes searched the darkening forest around her.  _You wouldn’t miss a chance to teach me the error of my ways, not to mention taking out these idiots._

“Hey, where are Carlson and Dugan? It’s their turn on mutie watch,” Harris groused.

Tabitha drew in a breath and held it a moment. Her guards had been new faces the last two changes and there were others missing that she hadn’t seen in a while.

“Anderson is gone, too,” another man said.

Manis strode back in from the tree line. “They’re on patrol.”

“Not Dugan – he got shot in the foot by that hunter; he’s good for nothing but mutie watch,” Harris replied.

 _Oh, shit..._  Tabitha let her breath go, watching it curl like white smoke in the air.  _He’s already here..._

Catching her spooked look, Manis grinned at her. “It’s getting dark, Harris – didn’t you have first dibs?”

He wasn’t finished with the question before Harris had stepped in front of her. “Fuck yeah, sir,” he muttered, black leather gloves reaching out to squeeze her breasts through the coat. His fingers went to her zipper and hauled it down.

Tabitha gulped a breath and struggled with the idea of telling them. She bit her lip when the gloved hands opened the robe, tearing it back to expose her again.

Another man stepped up behind him. “Don’t take all night, Harris – I want to play ‘stick the mutie’ too.”

Harris grunted. “Untie the bitch, then. Can’t get at the good stuff with her trussed up against a fucking tree.”

“Hey Bowman!” the other man yelled into the trees. “You called sloppy thirds – better get up here before you miss your turn!”

“Fuck him,” Harris said. “Half of those assholes probably ran off, scared to death of a stupid mutie dog.”

Tabitha started to close her eyes, not wanting to see Harris’s leering face as he groped her breasts, pain lancing like knives into her cold nipples with every touch. Then a slight movement in the trees across the clearing made her eyes open wide.

Between the trees, a huge shadow moved closer, twin amber lights like slits glowing there. She couldn’t breathe as she saw his face appear, his claws gleaming red in the sunset as he put a finger up to his lips. Around the admonishing finger, the lips stretched and opened, displaying fangs and sharp cutting teeth in an obscene grin. Sinking back into the dark, he disappeared from sight.

All that held her up in that moment was the loops of the rope and the hands of the man who wanted to rape her. The other man moved behind the tree to untie the rope, but she abruptly knew he wouldn’t get far.

When the first scream sounded right behind her, hurting her ears, the horror of it turned her blood to water. Slowly closing her eyes, she fought to breathe and waited, wondering how many of them would die before she did and no longer wanting to watch any of it.

A knife blade at her throat made her eyes snap open again. Harris held it, his face a stiff mask of terror. Tabitha smelled something sharp and pungent, and then realized he had pissed himself.

Behind her, the man who had been untying the rope was dead. He’d fallen out of her sight, but the spray of his blood was all over the back of her head, shoulder, and thigh. It speckled the snow around her like thrown rubies, but Sabretooth was nowhere to be seen or heard.

Manis was shouting orders, getting his men to rally around him in front of her tree. Three of them made it, besides Harris. They bristled with guns, but only the rifles and pistols were left – the nine missing men were the ones that had carried assault rifles and the flamethrower.

Ignoring the shouts of his comrades, Harris muttered into her face, “That mutie touches me, I’ll slit your throat, bitch.”

Eyes full of tears, Tabitha struggled to remain as calm as she could. “He’ll want to kill me himself. If you threaten to beat him to it, you’ll only get hit next.”

“Shut up!”

Manis yelled to him to flank them, to draw his gun, but Harris was frozen in place.

“You should obey him,” she said. “Safety in numbers.”

“Think that mutie’s going to save you? I’ll cut you first.”

“I think he’s here to kill and maybe eat me. You guys are just the appetizer.”

The blade cut shallowly into her skin and she wondered if it wouldn’t be an easier death. At the same time, her pulse was pounding in her veins, the will to fight luring her to blow the man to bits.

 _No, I can’t … can’t kill..._  “You’re killing yourself, Harris, not me. You’ll be dead before you can take me out.”

“Die, mutie!” he screamed, and began to push on the knife.

Metal flashed, but it wasn’t the human’s blade. Striking the wrist too fast for her to see the fingers, wicked claws went right through cloth, flesh, and bone. The hand, still clutching the knife, fell to the red snow, sections of the wrist plunking down after it in thick slices.

Harris jerked backward, his remaining hand grabbing the stump. His screams were horrid as he dropped onto his back, writhing.

Bullets opened up, firing right next to her as the massive shape launched from behind her tree. One of them shot him in the head and Tabitha heard the dull clunk of metal as the slug was crushed against his adamantium skull. He turned his head to look at her throat and she saw the slug drop, the skin closing almost before it could.

Twisting back to face the four shooters, he waded into the midst of them, moving so fast that she only saw two more bullets strike his flesh, one tearing into his jeans at the thigh, another in his chest. Two of them died in the same instant after that hit, one under the claws, the other bitten in the throat.

She wanted to look away, but the carnage happened too fast. The last man with a rifle was picked up bodily, his back broken when Sabretooth brought a knee up sharply. Dropping him, he started to reach for Manis, but stopped when the man stuck the muzzle of his pistol against the feral mutant’s crotch.

“Don’t want to lose your dick, do you?”

The tips of Victor’s pointed ears moved, pinning down as he frowned. The long hackles were up and bristling on his body. “Not particularly, but let’s roll tha dice, huh? Think ya can pull tha trigger faster than I can rip yer guts out?” His claws were poised mere inches from the man’s torso.

“It doesn’t have to be like this, Creed. You know what we want.”

“I know ya were gonna let yer dogs climb on my piece – frail’s mine, Manis.”

“The cat isn’t yours.”

“Nope, she ain’t – she belongs t’ ‘erself. I’m gonna open ya up just fer touchin’ foot on my land, though. How’d ya keep gettin’ over tha fences alive? Yer like roaches.”

The pistol was pressed into the denim harder. “It’ll take you time to heal, you bastard.”

“Take it a bit t’ grow back, sure – but I can kill ya without it.”

“We can compromise somehow, perhaps?”

“What – I give ya half o’ tha snow leopard? Don’t think so, chump.”

Manis fell silent, his face growing still. All at once, his finger yanked the trigger back. Sabretooth never did gut him; his other hand shot up and grabbed the side of the man’s throat. With one flick of his thick wrist, he snapped his neck. Jerking his hips to one side, the bullet grazed him, cutting a bloody slice in his jeans.

Laughing, he threw the corpse away from him. Turning to face Tabitha, he noticed the whining and gurgling coward on the snow between them.

“Now fer tha piss-boy.”

Tabitha gulped in a deep breath. “I went nuts, I swear. I went to the kitchen, saw the back door, it just happened, and then –”

“Shut tha fuck up, would ya? I’m busy.” To her surprise, he crossed his ankles and dropped down in one fluid motion to sit Indian-style next to Harris. His eartips lifted – something she’d learned to associate with either focused attention or enjoyment. Grasping the man’s intact wrist, he tore his grip off of the amputated limb and spread the palm open in his hands. “Now, lessee, which o’ these li’l piggies touched my property?” Sniffing the gloved fingers one by one, his mouth stretched into a grin.

“Please don’t,” Tabitha whispered. “He’s already beaten.”

“Anthin’ inside my fence is my prey – hell, who am I kiddin’? Most things outside tha fence are too.”

“You don’t have to punish him for hurting me.”

“Who said I was punishin’ ‘im?”

His meaning came clear slowly in her exhausted mind, punctuated by a scream as his claws sheared away the pinkie finger. The grin pulled wider, his amber eyes locked onto her face.

“Oh, God...” She started to squeeze her eyes shut, but his low rasping voice stopped her.

“Better watch, Tabitha – watch, an’ I’ll stop at ‘is fingers. Close those baby blues an’ I’ll pluck ‘is outta ‘is head an’ stuff ‘em down yer throat.”

She watched, tears streaming, as each digit fell away. When he dropped the maimed hand, she let her chin fall to her chest. The screams stopped with another loud crack.

Rising, he stood before her, head ducking down to sniff at her body, his tongue flicking out to lick away the blood from the tiny cut on her throat.

“Ya broke my lock.”

“Please, Victor...”

“Told ya t’ drop that.”

“Sabretooth – I’m sorry. I won’t –”

“Ya smell like Snyder. Wearin’ ‘is coat, ain’t ya?”

“Y-yes... How did you –”

His arm lifted and he wiped thick strings of saliva from his chin with his forearm, smearing the drops of blood on his face. The long hackles on the forearm were standing up like the rest. “Gotta lot o’ these curs’ stink on ya; I don’t like that, frail.”

“Please...”

“Gonna present ya with a choice: me or yer freedom.”

“I don’t understand you.”

“Sure ya do – speakin’ plain English, ain’t I? Ya can act like yer gonna obey me from here on out, or ya can go free.”

She yelped when his claws flashed on either side of her, but only the loops of rope were cut. She barely stopped her knees from buckling as his fingers closed the robe over her chest and then dragged the zipper of the coat up under her chin.

Stepping back, he crossed his arms over his furry barrel chest. “There. Yer loose – which ya gonna pick?”

“You won’t let me go,” she muttered. “You’re lying.”

“Callin’ me a liar; ya got guts, frail – can’t wait t’ play with ‘em.”

Tabitha held her breath and took one tentative step away from the tree, farther away from him. Another step, another, and then she saw the eager hunger in his face, the glowing slits of his narrowed eyes.

“Not lying, worse – telling the truth … just not all of it. If I run, you’ll hunt me.”

“Don’t miss a trick, do ya?”

“You came out here to kill me.”

“I did – I should – but I’m not in tha mood t’ spend what vacation I got left makin’ bombs tha old school way.”

“If I go back, will the original deal still hold?”

“Why not? Ya better start doin’ what I fuckin’ say, though. I’m gettin’ bored with repeatin’ myself. Gotta do it again, I might just put ya on tha menu.”

“I’ll do what you say,” she whispered. Waves of exhaustion came over her, pain and horror twisting her stomach. Before she could brace herself against the tree, she fell forward onto her hands and knees.

“Yer worlds away from everythin’ here, Tabitha, an’ yer life’s a fuckin’ shambles. Ya got no one now, not even that simperin’ Guthrie. Sunk so low, ya still gonna deny it? We’re two fucked up peas in a pod.”

Trying to hold back a sob, she nodded, afraid to argue.

“What was that, frail?”

“Yes...”

“Yes, what?”

“We’re … alike...”

She moaned when his hands touched her, but he didn’t cut her, didn’t break her neck. Hoisting her up, he turned and began carrying her up the mountainside. She couldn’t think, couldn’t feel – and in moments, she simply slipped away, her head falling against his chest.

~ ~ ~

It was the small suite, the bed – and her hair was still slightly damp. What she could see of her skin over the covers was scrubbed clean. The ugly truth of why she was there, why she was still alive, crept up into her throat and burned.

Brys was in the room, just inside the door, but it wasn’t the cook’s stare that was boring into her head.

“Mornin’, Tabitha.”

She winced and looked away from Brys to the open doorway. Creed filled it, arms crossed over his chest as he leaned on the wall.

Brys moved forward and set a mug of hot tea on the nightstand. “Drink this – it’ll help you sleep. You need a little time to heal. I’ll bring you some food later, when your stomach feels more settled.”

“Those men, the hunters – did you know them?” she asked Creed.

“Knew Ron Snyder, yeah, but not ‘is buddy; he actually had permission t’ hunt on my property. Oh, he didn’t have a clue who granted that permission – he woulda been a bit surprised t’ find me alive after seein’ me lose a game o’ Russian roulette. T’ be honest, I’d hafta be all embarrassed an’ shit – always had tha rep that I never lost that game. Then again, tha last witness is dead, now, so…”

“They tried to help me. They were willing to shoot the man who hurt me.”

“Fat lot o’ good that woulda done ‘em.”

“Why did he have permission to hunt here?”

“Ya ask tha weirdest questions, girl. Ran int’ Snyder in Saigon durin’ ‘Nam; we weren’t on tha same side, ‘cept fer one helluva bar fight. Don’t matter much now.”

“Could you … I mean... Please don’t dump them in that hideous hole?” Nervous under his stare, she touched the rope burn marks on her throat with shaking fingers.

With a grunt, he straightened and turned to go. “Hear that, Brys? Pass it on t’ yer boy, huh? Put ‘em out near Faro where someone’ll find ‘em; then their kin can bury ‘em. Good ‘nuff ?” he asked her.

“Thank you.”

“Yeah, whatever.” He stalked away out of sight.

She drank the laced tea when Brys handed it to her, eager to let it take her away from the choice she’d made.

~ ~ ~

In the next two days as she got her strength back, she didn’t see Sabretooth at all. Brys brought her meals to her and would sit and talk with her now and then.

Once, Perrin came to check on her and gave her the news that the hunters’ bodies had been claimed in Faro.

Tabitha had been struggling with the issue of how to survive under Creed’s roof and asked him, “How do you get him to want to be nice to you?”

Without hesitation, he answered, “I obey him and I appeal to his vanity. We’ve told you that before. What we never do, is assume we have any power or sway over what he wants. Brys is a gentle person, but you don’t hear him object if Victor wants to torture someone.”

“Unlike you, practically enjoying it.”

“Believe it or not, most of the people Victor has harmed here have not been good or decent; present company excepted.”

“He’s a monster.”

“I’m quite aware of what he is. A phrase a friend used once about him always amused me: ‘He’s my monster.’ How did the last round of cruelties get started?”

“That morning, when I went into his suite – he told me it ‘wasn’t a good time to be there’.”

“You should’ve listened and walked away.”

“In hindsight, yeah – thanks for the super late tip.”

“I was downstairs and heard some of your insanity. Why in Heaven’s name did you drag up his parents? There are better ways to die.”

Tabitha’s chin lifted. “I believe anyone can change, realize their mistakes and turn over a new leaf.”

“Victor is a psychopathic and sadistic feral, possibly the most unpredictably dangerous mutant alive. Some people are beyond redemption.”

“I can’t accept that. I’m not the person to change him, maybe, but that doesn’t mean no one can.”

“Your Professor X failed miserably; strongest telepath on the planet, isn’t he?”

“How do you know about that?”

“Victor is quite proud of making that man fail. He also told me you keep touching him like he’s your sweetheart. If you want survival advice, stop doing that.”

“Do you love Brys?”

“Yes.”

“I don’t know if I’ll dare to love anyone ever again. I used to love Sam... I’m no June Cleaver, okay, but I prefer to be in love with the person I’m in bed with; it’s a hard habit to break. Even showing honest interest pisses Creed off and I don’t think I’ve ever hated anyone as much in my life, but I – I just want to live through this.”

“Start acting like a brazen hooker, then.”

“Um … why?”

“Rumor has it they live the longest in his bed. Oh, sure, now and then he hunts them in the streets in a big city; that’s what he was doing for fun in Vietnam, when he wasn’t busy killing for money. Fact is, high dollar ass is an addiction for the man – the fancier and more expensive, the better.”

“A taste for fancy … like the designer clothes...” Sighing, she slumped. “I’m not fancy – he loves to call me ‘white trash’.”

“You’re one of those X-Men people – that counts as forbidden fruit, another addiction he has.”

“Close, but no cigar. I was just in X-Force, the B team, sort of. How can I manage to be all brazen when he scares me to death?”

“You may have noticed that your fear is an aphrodisiac, too. How to manage? Hasn’t he shown you a few of his tricks? The man is – amazing – when he chooses to be.”

Tabitha thought of how Creed had outstripped any man she’d ever been with and nodded reluctantly. “Hate him or not – he’s as fascinating as he is frightening; I get exhausted trying to process both of those sides of the man at once. One minute he’s trying to choke me to death or starts to brutalize me, the next he’s chuckling, letting me pet him, and having amused snarky pillow-talk chats. Then I keep doing or saying the wrong thing and I get hurt again. I can’t figure out how not to do that.”

“To be blunt,” he told her, “having him want you in his bed is not a development I’ve been happy about. He’s not here that often and I’m quite addicted to his … company. Brys likes you, however, and his feelings matter to me, so I’ll give you a final bit of advice: when you feel stronger, seek him out. Don’t talk, don’t ask questions. Get the man’s attention, and then offer yourself. Don’t worry about showing fear or not – just give him what he wants. It could go a long way toward fixing the mess you made when you cut and ran.”

“No sane person would blame me.”

“Maybe not – but it’s the fast track way to turn yourself into prey in his eyes.”

“You really... You do crave him, don’t you? He called you ‘eager’. It’s not just a survival act?”

Rising from the wingchair, Perrin stretched like a cat and grinned at her. “No one fucks like Victor Creed.”

He walked out and shut her door before she could respond to that. Long after he left, she was still mulling over everything he’d told her.

Laced through her thoughts and fears – and the feeling of being trapped, doomed – was the memory of the pleasure Creed had given her. It couldn’t sway her from wanting to escape him, but at the same time, she had to face a second ugly truth.

_I’ve gone crazy, stark staring bonkers – but I want to have that again anyway; if he’s not hurting me. It might be the only way to live to see Vancouver, too. So – do I have the guts? Better find some, Tab. What Brys said, about providing what Creed requires, or I’d end up feeding his bloodlust... God help me, there may be no other way._

~ ~ ~

The next morning, she woke before dawn and slipped into her bathroom to prepare for what was sure to be one of the maddest things she’d ever tried to do. Holding her breath, she pulled on her green bathrobe and went to the closed doors of the master suite.

“He isn’t in there,” Perrin’s voice called up to her from the bottom of the stairs.

Turning, she descended the steps to join him. “Where is he?”

“He went out over an hour ago – hunting with the snow leopard.”

Tabitha walked with him back to the kitchen. Her boots were there; Brys had been drying them by the fire, with the cut socks stuffed inside them. She said good morning to Brys, sat in a chair to put on the socks and boots, and then headed for the back door.

“Ah, where are you going?” the cook asked, worried.

“Hunting,” she replied.

He started forward as if to stop her, but Perrin put a hand on his shoulder and shook his head. “It’s damage control,” he explained.

 _I doubt if I’ll have to go looking for him – Creed will smell me out here and probably show up pretty quick._  She shuddered in the frozen air, wishing she’d brought along Ron’s jacket.  _At least I’m not limping anymore. Hopefully, I won’t be again, later._

She hadn’t walked past the burn pile yet before she saw him; the snow leopard halted when he did. She couldn’t help staring up at him in the dim light of the rising sun.

He stood there nude, carrying a dead animal over his shoulders by its legs. It was some sort of deer, its cut throat dripping blood on his chest, thighs, and then the snow. Seeing her there, his lips pulled back into a snarl, his amber eyes narrowing. As she watched, his hackles rose.

 _No questions, no talking,_  she thought. Trembling from more than the cold, she turned around and dropped where she was, onto her knees. Her hands crunched into the snow and she winced at the sound of his kill thudding to the ground.  _Think about how good it was before, all the things he did that blew your mind. You have to smell like you want him, Tab..._   _Think about the Danger Room, when you did want him. Stop being terrified, damn it! Can’t watch … oh, shit..._

*****************************************************************

The moment he saw her outside, his anger boiled, only to be checked by surprise when she turned and fell to her knees in the snow. Her fear stink was cloying, but as her hands pressed into the frost in front of her, her hips lifting, her posture left no doubt of her intentions.

He dropped the caribou doe and stalked forward. With a hiss, the snow leopard bounded up to the rocks near the burn pile and disappeared into the white cliffs around the house.

Body trembling, the girl tried to keep still. Her scent carried no strain of arousal, but that hardly mattered to him. Going to one knee behind her, his cock already halfway hard at the sight of her submissive and inviting pose, he yanked the robe up to the middle of her back.

A low growl of predatory pleasure rumbled up from his chest, followed by a growing smirk when he realized she’d slathered herself up with the ointment she’d been given to tend to the scratches on her skin.

Without retracting the claw, he slipped a finger inside her slowly, keeping it straight until the tip pierced shallowly into the first inner curve of muscle.

The soft noise of pain she tried to swallow sharpened his lust in a few thudding heartbeats. Just as slowly, he withdrew the claw and sucked the taste of her off of his finger.

Dropping to both knees, hands grasping her hips, he didn’t need to guide himself to her; his erection strained, hard enough to brush his belly before he pushed it inside. His thighs bumped against hers and she fought to remain on her arms, but she wouldn’t be able to for long. Moving one hand under her to press his palm flat against her stomach below the knot of the sash, he pushed up on her smooth abdominals to hold her still.

Sniffing the air as he began to thrust, he growled again at the abrupt surge of her pheromones. The arousal spurred him on harder, his knees splaying to push deeper. Her arms collapsed, but she settled on her forearms instead, pressing her forehead against them. The shift pulled on the head of his cock, the pleasure dragging a hiss from him. He drove into her fast then with short, sharp jabs, intent on his release without worrying about hers, though the sounds she made had turned as warm as her scent.

She gasped when the tips of his claws pricked into the flesh of her hip and stomach, the fear in the noise driving him closer.

Leaning down over her back, his weight making her knees scrape and spread in the snow, he brought his lips to her ear and whispered, “Scream fer me...”

One light nip of fangs on the nape of her neck terrified her into silence, but when he put a bit of pressure into the grip, she gave him what he wanted in a loud bray.

Before the cry ended, his lust gathered and broke. Driving in as deep as he could, he straightened his back and filled her, a savage roar tearing from his throat to echo off of the back wall of the kitchen and the cliffs around them.

He moved the hand on her stomach, his arm clutching her against him as he reared back to settle on his haunches. Dragging her body up until it leaned back on his chest, he let her slide down to sit on his cock. Her weight shoved it deep enough to make her cry out. The other hand slipped fingers into her hair, moving the curls so his tongue could scrape up the side of her neck, over the pulse that pounded in the jugular vein.

“Mmm,” he breathed into her ear, his tongue tip tracing it. Her fear stink exploded again, even while her inner muscles still clenched around his softening cock. “Ya taste even better when yer pulse jumps like a scared rabbit’s. Maybe I’ll just keep ya right here ‘til I’m ready t’ go again.” He chuckled at her whimper, well aware that he was seated too deep inside her and that the pose was brutal on her lower back and shuddering thighs.

Feeling uncharacteristically charitable, he pushed her up off of him and back down onto her hands and knees, allowing their bodies to separate. His cock fell back onto his belly with a delicious wet slap.

Rocking back up onto his feet in one smooth graceful motion, he went to fetch the doe. He hauled it back up across his shoulders, careful to keep the slit body cavity closed against the back of his neck. Passing her, he remarked, “Get yer ass inside before ya freeze solid.”

He wasn’t surprised when the back door opened for him; no doubt, they’d heard them both.

Victor bypassed the kitchen and headed into the back room next to the walk-in freezer. Several shining steel hooks hung from exposed beams in the ceiling, with metal worktables around most of the walls. The concrete floor slanted toward the center to an old steel drain.

Setting the doe to hang upside down on one of the hooks, he brought a wide steel bucket over from the wall and set it underneath to catch the blood. He waited until he heard the skirt behind him to pry open the carcass, letting the organs he’d already severed and saved outside fall with a series of plops into the bucket. She made a small strangled noise and fled from the room as fast as her limping gait could take her.

A moment later, the boy appeared, ready to help. “She’s definitely a city girl,” he commented.

“That li’l gesture outside was yer idea?”

“No. I just gave her a bit of helpful advice on how to get back on your good side.”

Victor snorted. “Figured ya’d be happier if she wasn’t on any o’ my sides.”

“It’s not about what I want, is it?”

“Smart boy.”

Victor sniffed the air, the mix of blood, offal, and arousal spiking his lust again. When he turned and advanced on the boy, Perrin gave ground until his back hit the shelves that held the skinning tools. Without a jot of fear, he turned his head, giving Victor his throat.

Pressing his body into him, his cock trapped against the rough denim of the boy’s jeans, Victor opened his mouth. Fangs dripping saliva, he lowered his head and bit slowly into the side of the smooth-shaven neck, around the jugular and carotid arteries. Carefully controlling it, he pressed his fangs in just a little farther than he had done before.

He felt fingers touch his hips and then move down, but a growl stopped them. Drawing his teeth out, his tongue lapped up the beads of blood before they could drip.

“Sir, did you want your breakfast now or –”

Victor smirked against the boy’s skin as Brys dumped all the fear stink into the room that Perrin had been lacking. “I think we’ll have breakfast upstairs, Brys. Finish this up, would ya, get it skinned, wrapped, an’ hung in tha freezer?”

“Yes … yes, sir. Ah, shall I make up a tray now?”

“Yeah. If tha skirt wants any, make ‘er come down t’ eat with ya in tha kitchen; no waitin’ on ‘er unless I incapacitate ‘er again. Well – worse than just now.”

“Yes, sir.”

Stepping back from the boy, he turned and licked his lips as he left the room, hearing the boots behind shadowing his steps.

~ ~ ~

Victor spent the rest of the morning torturing Vaughn for information about Rothenberg’s raid missions, and then went out to inspect his fences until sunset. He found the cache of climbing equipment right where his prisoner said it would be and shook his head again at the trouble and expense their employer had gone to.

Carting it all back with him, he went up to the second floor armory and dumped it all in a tangled mess on one of the work tables. Not bothering to turn on the lights in the room, he went over to the wall where the armored gear was hanging. Opening one of the vest pockets, he slipped a Kevlar plate out, turning it over in his hands.

The top of the plate was coated with an odd film, almost like a skin of rubber, though it didn’t smell like it. The scent was familiar, however. Vaughn hadn’t been lying, yet it was hard to believe Rothenberg had connections that impressive, even with the evidence lying on his palm.

Taking the plate with him, he locked up the armory and went up to his study. Down the hall, the skirt’s door was closed. With a grunt, he hoped she’d stay in there.

Inside the study, he opened the sliding wooden door a crack and let a sniff determine that Brys had finished readying his suite. Both fireplaces were lit and warming the study and suite, so he didn’t bother with any other lights. Closing the sliding door again, he dropped his coat over the back of his chair and set the Kevlar plate on the desk before pulling out one of the bookcases from the wall.

Pressing his thumb pad on a glass square in the door of the hidden safe, he listened to the clicks as it opened. Passing over bundles of cash and the skirt’s phone and iPod, he fished out his cell phone. Closing the safe, he shoved the bookcase back.

Victor fell into his couch and stretched out. Retracting his claws, he slid the keypad down and speed dialed a very exclusive cell phone. Its owner was most likely in his workshop garage in California.

When the call was picked up, Victor put him on speaker and tossed the Nokia onto Jimi Hendrix’s face on his chest. “Found ‘nother bit o’ yer random tech up here, Stark.”

“Who is – Creed?”

“Yup. Kevlar plates in armored clothes, got yer black gel shit coated on one side – same as tha tires yer boys customized fer me.”

“‘Boys’ I had to fire for taking that project on, Creed. My company is going legit these days, remember – no more dirty dealings under the table. This means you.”

“Aw, yer gonna hurt my feelin’s. Listen up, flyboy – dirty dealin’s are what ya got goin’ on. Meat t’ be wasted outta Seattle – he’s got some toy soldiers that keep tresspassin’ on my land wearin’ yer fancy plates. Tha gel deflects tha lasers that should be cuttin’ neat li’l cauterized holes through ‘em. Sound familiar? So if yer still claimin’ t’ be on tha up an’ up, my guess is, ya gotta few ferrets in corporate sales yet.”

“Where are you?”

“That’d be privileged intel, hero. Don’t worry ‘bout tha meat – I’ll take care o’ ‘im, but ya might wanna check int’ invoices fer Kevlar armor an’ fire some more hooligans.”

“So the armor … you have it?”

“Some o’ it, yeah – lot o’ tha stuff’s in shreds – occupational hazard. Gotta few full sets, though, with tha Kevlar plates an’ yer top secret goop.”

“I don’t suppose you’d send it back?”

“Whattaya gonna do fer me?”

“Creed, damn it –”

“Be a shame if it all got sold on tha black market, huh? Bet it’d fetch a bit o’ shine; ‘specially with yer comp’ny stamp on it an’ all. Ya know what I want, Stark.”

“The Memory Image Inducer.”

“With tha improvements I wanted. Considerin’ I gave ya tha plans fer tha original toy’s Shi’ar tech, not sure what tha hold up’s been.”

“Stolen plans tend to give a guy like me momentary pause. Xavier’s not only a client for security products, he’s also a man I don’t want to tick off.”

“Not like I’m gonna tell tha bastard. So are ya too gutless t’ tinker it t’gether?”

“I believe I said ‘momentary pause’. Those plans produced a bit of drool, to be honest. What on earth is ‘Shi’ar’, anyway? Are they some obscure Japanese company? I like to know who I’m cribbing from.”

“They ain’t on Earth, but I’ll let Chuckles an’ McCoy explain – if ya wanna bring it up t’ ‘em how ya got their plans – yer call.”

“Chuckles?”

“If ya could find yer leak an’ cut off tha high-tech armor goodies goin’ t’ tha pain in my ass, that’d just be cream.”

“If he’s harassing you, I might invite him to dinner, help him design a cape.”

“Heh, yeah; ya wouldn’t want this bloated toad, he ain’t yer type – black hat, all tha way. Matter o’ fact, he’s after me fer stealin’ a cat he was feedin’ with people he didn’t like.”

“Tastes like chicken? That must be some cat.”

“Ya got no idea.”

“You eat people, Creed – I fail to see the shades of gray on this one.”

“We gotta deal, boy – ya gonna keep reapin’ tha bennies from it, or tell me t’ fuck off?”

Victor grinned. Judging by the sounds around the man coming through the phone, Tony Stark had risen from a chair and was starting to pace.

“If ‘yes’ gets you out of my hair and makes the trade happen, then yes, I’ll tinker. Send the armor, the damaged stuff, too – and I’ll finish the improvements on the MII.”

“How ‘bout we remember that we don’t trust each other? Finish it, bring it t’ New York, an’ hand it over t’ Obinata. I’ll ship yer ill-gotten property t’ ‘im. Got it?”

“Fine, fine, you win.”

“I usually do. ‘Sides, ya got nothin’ t’ worry ‘bout – it’s fer recreational use only, an’ in return, ya get t’ patch up ‘nother leak an’ recover wayward secrets. That’s called a win-win.”

“Well, it was a treat chatting with you, but I have to go shower off now.”

Victor chuckled. “Always a pleasure doin’ business with ya, flyboy.” He didn’t bother to sever the connection – Stark had already hung up on him. With a sigh, he frowned and called out, “Eavesdroppin’ ain’t ladylike, Tabitha.”

The skirt appeared in the open doorway in one of Brys’s dark brown bathrobes. Victor did regret missing the moment when she realized her skin and the green robe had gotten caribou blood smeared everywhere after their morning tryst.

Brys had probably been busy with laundry all day, after what he and the boy had done to his sheets pre-shower. The fact that the master suite was once again spotless by the time he got home was a testament to the man’s efficiency.

“Did ya just stop by t’ show off yer new threads?” he prompted her.

“I … wanted to discuss something. I didn’t know you were... You can just call up Iron Man on your cell? How about the Fantastic Four or Spider-Man?”

“Just Stark – got no use fer tha rest o’ those chumps.”

“Wow.”

Raising an eyebrow at her, he sneered. “Don’t get yer tits in a knot hopin’ I’ll ‘change’ just cuz I got that altruistic tin bastard on speed dial. Me an’ ‘im gotta deal goin’ – mutually lucrative in nature.”

“Sam said that Iron Man isn’t selling stuff to people like you anymore, or his company isn’t, anyway. Was that a lie?”

“Havin’ a cape in common don’t make yer precious hayseed an authority on Stark. I happen t’ be in tha unique position o’ lettin’ ‘im know when tha bad guys get hold o’ ‘is toys. Best way t’ get a couple o’ trinkets myself here an’ there, since he figured out Obinata an’ me are buddies. Flyboy ain’t happy ‘bout it, but I’ve been a better whistle-blower than anybody else, helped ‘im outta lot.”

“Wouldn’t that make you a little unpopular at megalomaniac cocktail parties?”

“Ya assume I give a shit ‘bout socializin’ with those morons.”

“All the years you spent in the Brotherhood of Evil Mutants might give someone that impression. Not to mention the Marauders.”

“Gave all that up fer Lent. They’re as bad as Cueball fer chasin’ after stupid social ‘dreams’. Ain’t got no causes, don’t give a rip who’s at war with who, neither. None o’ ‘em are good ‘nuff  t’ take me down, so I got tha luxury o’ not carin’ who ends up on top.”

“So … you don’t have any dreams or aspirations? No clue what you want to be when you grow up?”

“Think yer cute, don’t ya? Yer lucky I’m in a good mood.” Standing up as he clicked the keypad in, he palmed the phone and headed back through the wooden door.

“Um … can I talk with you?”

“Frail, ya wanna go where angels ain’t gonna tread, I don’t give a fuck.” He heard her follow and then she started to slide it shut. “Leave it open.”

Setting his phone on the nightstand, he pulled his t-shirt off and draped it on one of the chairs. He sat in the other chair and started taking off his heavy custom boots.

Needled by her comment in spite of himself, he told her, “Some folks like golf; I don’t. I gotta yen fer killin’, an’ I’m pretty fuckin’ good at it. Figured out nearly a century an’ a half ago that a man has needs, an’ some shit costs money. Stealin’ ain’t as easy as murder, so I decided t’ get paid fer doin’ what I love, an’ then I could get other stuff I wanted. It ain’t rocket science; truth is, I’m a hard workin’ capitalist.”

She tried not to stare when he stood and opened his fly, dropping the jeans to step out of them. His habit of never bothering with underwear seemed to both embarrass and amuse her.

Leaving the jeans on the floor, he kept the band in his hair and grabbed his book off of the table before heading to the bed. When he was propped up on pillows and covered to the waist, she got her tongue back.

“You didn’t show up for meals today. Did you … kill Vaughn?”

“Ya mean did I eat ‘im instead? No. Played with ‘im a bit an’ got some answers, proved ‘em, chased my own dinner on tha hoof. Don’t always hunt in my birthday suit, ya know.”

The skirt came forward and actually sat on the edge of the bed facing him, well within reach. Laying the book on his lap, he crossed his arms over his chest and watched her.

“You can read in this light?”

“Yup; ya gonna start naggin’ me now? Don’t recommend it.”

“I wasn’t.”

“Ya got five seconds t’ say what’s on yer mind; after that, yer gonna be in danger o’ wastin’ my time.”

“I’m sorry for being stupid enough to bolt like that.”

Victor smirked. “Ya already ‘pologized – on yer knees this mornin’. ‘Sides, ya ain’t sorry fer shit, ‘cept that ya didn’t make it outta here.”

She was silent after that. With an odd twinge, he realized he was pleased she’d dared to follow him. It made him frown. Solitude was better – yet he kept seeking out others, whenever the emptiness inside started to get too loud.

“I’m also sorry I called you a liar.”

“I tell tha truth a lot more’n most folks think, girl; it usually surprises ‘em.”

“That’s not the real shock about you.”

“Do tell.”

The return of his smirk made her nervous. Toying with the sash of her robe, she muttered, “Most people I know think you’re … well … stupid.”

Chuckling, he gave her a toothy grin. “Cuz I don’t talk like McCoy, I’m an idiot, huh? They think tha runt an’ Rogue’re stupid, too?”

“N-no.”

“Just me then? No surprise. Most o’ tha time, that suits me fine; ya can get away with a lotta shit when folks think yer an idiot.”

“Those men kept calling you ‘stupid mutie’ all day.”

Grin widening, he told her, “Sticks an’ stones, girl. What counts is comin’ out on top, which is all tha more fun when they’re so fired sure they’re gonna win.”

“Like Manis holding that pistol on you? I was watching and I barely saw it, you moved so fast. He’d pulled the trigger and you killed him before the bullet left the barrel. You didn’t even hit him where he expected you to.”

“Don’t like bein’ predictable.”

“The claws would’ve been faster.”

Victor shrugged. “I like seein’ tha look in their eyes when they step over int’ tha big dirt nap.”

She bowed her head. “Ron and Ben wouldn’t have died if I’d been smarter about my bombs.”

“Yeah they woulda – if they tried t’ take what’s mine. Ya did screw up, though. Ya tap out too fast, throwin’ those things like mad, not makin’ ‘nuff  o’ ‘em count. Prob is ya operate on emotions – let ‘em wind ya up so tight ya end up near useless in short order. Same fuckin’ blindspot tha runt has, always did.”

“He’s a force of nature – I’m nothing like that.”

“Heh, right. I been handin’ ‘is head t’ ‘im fer years cuz he lets me get under ‘is skin. Half tha time, all it takes is threatenin’ one o’ ‘is skirts. Push ‘im over tha red line, make ‘im go so far int’ tha beast within he forgets ‘is own fuckin’ name. Then I got ‘im.”

“Manis wanted to do that to you – that’s why they were going to … take turns... It was to make you so mad you’d get sloppy, or something like that.”

“That’s tha idea – if ya ain’t a flatscan. That’d only work on me if someone like that fancy tin man was jumpin’ me – somebody with balls big ‘nuff  t’ deal with what they set loose. ‘Course, bein’ able t’ fly outta reach would help. Other than that, a red-haze sloppy mad’s just gonna get ya dead. Hell, yer average idiot ain’t breathin’ after tha sawed-off runt gets that torqued. Thing is, if I keep my brains an’ he tosses ‘em out ‘is ear, I gotta sweet openin’ t’ exploit, sooner or later, an’ big ‘nuff balls t’ stay standin’ ‘til it presents itself.”

“Would you … teach me how?”

“Well first, tell ‘im yer gonna gut Red – or one o’ tha kids – never fails.”

“I’m serious – and you know what I meant.”

“Teach ya how t’ use yer power better, how not t’ fritz out so fast? Why tha hell would I do that?”

“It’ll make me more effective in Vancouver.”

“An’ ya keep on lyin’ t’ me.” He watched her, amused that she didn’t back down or simper. “Might be entertainin’. Fuck it – yer on.”

The skirt smiled and tried to sound casual. “Thanks. Pete Wisdom taught me a lot, but I’m still flying off the handle when I’m upset. After seeing how you took Manis out – I mean, I don’t condone … or...”

“Best ya don’t start thinkin’ I need ya t’ ‘condone’ shit I do, frail.”

Her gaze skated away from his, but still she didn’t retreat.

“What’s with the choker? You haven’t taken it off since I got here.” She surprised him by moving closer, her fingers reaching out to his throat.

With a snatch, he caught her wrist, a low growl thrumming in his chest. His ears pinned for a moment. It took longer for his hackles to settle. Drawing in a breath, he said, “Sudden movement t’ tha throat ain’t smart. Safer t’ ask first.” Before she could speak, he put her fingers on the necklace.

“Is it … human?”

“Yup. One o’ Hydra’s goons – snivelin’ li’l bastard, too.”

“Um … why are you wearing this person?”

“Already covered that didn’t I?” A fresh smirk twitched his lips. “I like t’ wear my trophies – tha ones that ain’t too big t’ cart ‘round. Gotta museum o’ sorts upstairs, all kinds o’ nasty goodies.”

Her fingers slid over the finger bones and teeth, pressing them into his skin lightly. “Did you bleach them?”

“Naw. If ya wear ‘em long ‘nuff , shower with ‘em an’ such, they come clean eventually.” When she jerked her hand back, he burst out laughing. “Gotcha.” She jumped again when his phone rang. Reaching to pick it up, he read his banker’s name and grinned. “How tha fuck are ya, Obinata-san?”

The skirt started to get up, until he popped his claws on his free hand and pricked her shoulder with light pressure. With a smirk, he handed her his book. She took it slowly, pretending she wasn’t trying to hear every word.

“Nope, t’morrow is tha earliest I can get there; we’re due fer a storm t’night. Tell Ellison t’ meet me at Gotham Steakhouse on Seymour. I’ll bring ‘is photos, an’ we can hash out tha details. Hey, gotta piece o’ new business: I’m gonna ship some Kevlar plates an’ such t’ ya, fer Stark t’ take in trade. Usual hostage exchange rules, an’ don’t give tha bastard shit if he ain’t got my inducer. Check it first, yeah? Precisely.”

He watched the skirt as he listened to Obinata’s work news. She had found his scrap of a bookmark and was squinting at the page, pretending to read it – though her eyes didn’t move a jot.

“I don’t care when,” he answered the banker, “but if ya can fit one o’ ‘em in between there an’ Nepal, it’d be a better use o’ tha fuel I’m gonna burn gettin’ ‘er there. Yeah, fine, whatever – ya can sort that out better’n me.” He abruptly switched to Japanese at that point, giving the skirt a wink when she looked up at him in surprise. After they discussed things he didn’t want her to hear, he chuckled. “Ya got it. Sayonara.” Disconnecting the call, he put the phone back on the nightstand. “Like BTO preached it, frail, ya gotta take care o’ business.”

“Where are you going?”

“Vancouver, gotta meet Ellison, sort out how t’ get tha cat turned loose where she won’t be hunted.”

“Oh. Is this – I mean, are we going there soon? To blow stuff up?”

“What, ya in a hurry?” Taking the book from her, he set it next to the phone. “Ain’t gonna tell ya when ya get t’ go blow stuff up. ‘Sides, ya gotta get better at it first. We can start after I get back, might be tha day after t’morrow.” His fingers reached out, the claws catching the collar of her robe and tugging it off of one shoulder without slicing the thick cloth or the smooth skin beneath. “Ya gonna be here when I get back, or am I gonna hafta hunt ya down an’ kill anybody who laid a hand on ya?”

She met his gaze, trying not to look at the claws. “I’ll be here.”

Solely to shock her again, he leaned forward and caught her mouth in a kiss, his tongue licking her lips before she parted them. Retracting the claws on one hand, he worked it inside the robe and slid two thick fingers into her abruptly wet heat.

Keeping her mouth busy, largely to shut her up, he set to the job of working her into a panting frenzy just because he could.

Her hands gripped his arms as she used the foot that was still on the floor to turn her body more, to give him better access to her flushed skin. He broke the kiss to take the collar of the robe in his teeth, pulling it away from her breasts until it fell open, pooling at the small of her back.

Breaking her hold on his arms, he brought wet fingers up to her lips. The thinnest tendrils of her lust were almost obliterated when he shot his claws out, still offering the fingers to her.

“Wanna watch ya suck ‘em, girl.” He studied her face as she struggled to make herself obey, waiting until she began to open her mouth, her body trembling with fear, before he retracted them again. Her twitch of fright made his cock wake up. “Do it good an’ I won’t pop ‘em when yer tongue’s slitherin’ over tha tips.”

“Sabretooth … please...”

“Call it a trust game. Suck ‘em … get me ready fer ya – get me hard fer ya.”

Victor growled as she hesitated, and then she swallowed hard. Eyes bright with brimming tears, her lips touched his fingertips, her tongue curling down them, licking her slick juices from his skin. Her body jolted when his other hand claimed her glistening slit, the claws disappearing a breath before he touched her.

Watching avidly, he worked at controlling the urge to pop them all and cut her. When the soft sucking pressure on his fingers got stronger, the bloodlust began to recede as his pulse picked up.

In the instant that he made her come, her mouth turned ravenous, her growing hunger and twining terror making him draw in a sharp breath. Yanking his fingers free, he tore the blankets out of his way and crooked a finger at her.

“Drop that an’ get over here. I’m feelin’ lazy.”

She stood and let the robe fall, but paused before lowering herself back down to the bed. “What … do you want me to do?”

His hand grabbed his cock and jerked it once. “Lick on this instead.” He could see the memory of the dungeon flicker in her widening eyes. “Ain’t gonna need t’ wire yer jaw shut after, though it’s temptin’ t’ do that just cause.”

“You like it rougher than I can get,” she whispered.

“So take tha hustler’s shortcut. Shit, girl, maybe I oughta make ya watch when I play with tha boy; ya might learn a lot. Yer actin’ like a fuckin’ virgin, not tha trollop ya are.”

“Can I have the lube first?”

“No. If I wanted yer pussy, I’d be in it – now suck it – an’ if ya say ‘nother word before I shoot, yer gonna regret it.”

Victor settled into the pillows, still angled slightly up the headboard on them, giving him a fine view as the skirt opened her jaw. Her mouth was soft at first, before she remembered that was a mistake.

Her teeth scraped the shaft just below the head as she attempted to be rough, but then she backed off of it and nearly apologized.

At his raised eyebrow, her mouth snapped shut. “Good girl,” he said, enjoying the angry flush that reddened her skin and enriched her scent. “Give ya a hint, Tabitha – use yer teeth, go nuts with ‘em.”

Again, she almost spoke, and then she glared at him. She moved her head down again, and managed to surprise him when she kept her lips in a tight little open ring to play with the foreskin, making it move and rub back and forth over the glans.

His hips jerked once, a groan torn from his throat. She was quick enough to lean back and move her mouth, before she brought her tongue in to slap and toy with the head. Using one small hand to retract the foreskin back and hold it there, she squeezed it and the shaft, as if she intended to strangle the head. Her fingertips couldn’t touch around it.

Staring up at him, she bit the smooth and already glistening head in a vicious nip, close around his slit. Victor’s claws shot out and pierced the edges of his pile of pillows. With a slow drag into fists, the cloth casing was slashed, letting twin puffs of small white feathers into the air. Keeping the tight grip on his shaft and foreskin, the other hand moved up to assist her mouth. With two fingers, she pulled at the skin to open the narrow slit and licked at the tiny opening. His hips jerked again when her teeth bit a second time around the slit, his thighs splaying almost involuntarily.

She shifted, moved to his side in the center of the bed, and lay close to press the flat of her tongue up the shaft. Finding the large vein that ran up it, she nipped it over and over, all the way up, before popping the head in her mouth again to suck it as hard as she could. She released the foreskin, played with it more and then chased it as it retracted, her tongue digging under it. She drew wet circles around his slit, and then found the frenulum and licked and nibbled it like a pro.

Eventually, the skirt remembered she had permission for other things and set her finger against the tight muscle of his anus. Her fingernail even scratched, teasing, in the shorter golden fur that grew between his ass cheeks. A breath later, she moved the finger, but before she could slick it up between her legs, he growled at her.

“Don’t bother; shove it in dry. Fuck, see how many ya can fit.” Catching her gaze and glaring at her before she spoke, he grinned at the frustration his restriction was building in her. “It’s an invitation t’ make it hurt, frail – ya gonna pass that up?”

One of her little blunt fingernails snagged the skin as she punched the index and middle fingers in. It stretched the muscle painfully and he snarled, which almost made her withdraw.

His hand moved like lightning, the palm slapping down on top of her head, the claws pricking into her scalp through the curls.

“Didn’t say stop,” he told her. When the fingers sank deeper, he hissed. “That’s it … make it hurt.”

Irritated with her feeble attempts to jack him, he released her head and batted her other hand away. Cupping his sack, he pulled it up and grabbed his shaft in the same hand, pumping the whole works hard and fast with a tight grip.

Victor closed his eyes as the skirt’s fingers finally got into the rhythm of being rough and continued to jack himself. His free hand perched on his chest, claws digging in, and when she hit his prostate and kept it up, he gave up thinking about her and let the collection of brutal sensations roll over him.

Moments before he came, he pulled his claws out of his chest and grabbed a mess of short blonde curls. She cried out in surprise when he tugged on her hair, pulling her up and over his hips.

“Give us a kiss,” he rasped at her, and pushed her face down.

The instant her hot mouth enveloped the head of his cock, he filled it, choking her. He arched his back, shoving his cock deeper, the scrape of teeth catching his shout, garbling it into a raw guttural groan.

He released her and himself at once and collapsed against the pillows, his eyes heavily lidded, but watching her through his lashes.

The anal ring muscle had contracted tight again around her sunken fingers and she seemed afraid to remove them. Her other hand had lifted to her mouth to try and catch what she couldn’t swallow.

Amused, he muttered, “Can’t care less if ya get some o’ that on me.” The look on her face made him chuckle. “Go ahead – tell me what a bastard I am.”

Struggling to swallow and then to breathe, she gasped out, “You’re a bastard.” Then she blushed halfway down her neck.

All too aware why, he smirked at her. “Yank ‘em out – we’re all done here.” The grunt and hiss that escaped his lips when she did it almost made a liar out of him. “Seems like ya do awright when I piss ya off. Thought havin’ t’ be quiet might make ya blow up.”

“How can you enjoy that?”

“Ever met a male o’ any species that didn’t?”

“Not that. Stabbing yourself … your chest.”

Sitting up with a huff of breath, he tapped his chest with one clawtip. “Like this?” Punching it into the flesh, he sniffed to catch the sharp tang of her disgust. Drawing it out slow, he watched her as she stared at the healing skin. “They tell me that tha first time I found out what pleasure was, I probly wasn’t in a good situation. Guess mixin’ pleasure an’ pain got t’ be a habit.”

“‘They’ told you? Who’s ‘they’? Shouldn’t you know for yourself? Good or bad, your first time is usually pretty memorable.”

“Ya’d think so, huh? ‘They’ were Dr. Valerie Cooper, Cueball Xavier, an’ Sinister – formerly known as Nathaniel Essex. I like t’ call ‘em, ‘Tha Good, tha Bad, an’ tha Ugly.’ My first’s one o’ those bits stuck in tha mental quagmire; probly in there some fuckin’ where, but who knows? Don’t really give a shit – drop it.”

“Um, it hurts you, though; I mean, you do feel pain. You might call it foreplay, but you obviously don’t always like it.”

“Pain an’ me go way back, frail. Sometimes I want it, other times it’s a bitch. Either way, bein’ as I am, it is possible t’ get a li’l used t’ it after ‘nuff  decades. ‘Sides, like I told ya, conditionin’ myself t’ searin’ pain got me outta some deep shit once or twice.”

The skirt held herself and shuddered. “I can’t wrap my mind around that.”

Victor twisted his upper body, pulled the pillows down and flopped onto his stomach, puffing air to make the loose feathers fly. Looking at her over his shoulder, he said, “Folks that spend their whole life never bein’ hurt – first time it happens, they freeze. Even if it’s minor, they can’t function. That ain’t like ya an’ me, girl. Yer daddy conditioned ya, an’ it made ya stronger.”

Her gaze was hard as she stared back at him. “It was horrid – and wrong.”

“Don’t doubt it – still made ya stronger. Did ya forget lesson one already?” Giving her a wink, he turned his head and buried his face in his arms. For a few rapid heartbeats, his back itched, but he ignored the buzz of instinct that protested turning his back to her.

He felt the heat of her hand over his shoulder blade before she spoke, and smiled. She kept sticking around when getting gone was smarter.

“Do you mind?”

“Don’t fuckin’ care.”

“Am I allowed to leave?”

“Haven’t decided yet.” Frowning when she drew breath for another volley, he growled, ears pinning again. “Shut it, girl. Pet any damn thing ya like, but shut it.”

Victor had nearly drifted off before her hands touched his back. They toyed with the ridge of long fur that ran down his spine between the shoulderblades. It thinned mid-back as it did on his pectorals, and then grew in longer again in a trail to his tailbone. She stroked it as if he was her pet. He was a little surprised when she began to massage the taut muscles of his back. A low growl started up in his chest and the hands paused, but then he decided he really didn’t care and quieted.

She reached for his hair next, gently taking it out of the ponytail. Her fingers ran through it, trying to lay it flat down his back, but the waves of curls defied her.

Voice muffled, he asked, “What tha hell are ya doin’?”

“You said I could.”

“I’m aware – question’s still on tha table.” With a grunt, he propped himself up on his elbows. “Figured ya’d bolt first chance ya got.”

“You hadn’t decided if I could yet.”

“Stop playin’ fuckin’ games, girl. Leave if ya bloody want t’ go.”

“I don’t want to … yet.”

“Huh. Didn’t know ya was crazy. Ain’t ya learned that stickin’ ‘round’s just gonna get ya fucked again?”

“I … want you to.”

With a slight shake of his head, he repeated, “Crazy.”

She stopped stroking his hair and ran her palm down his back, slipping her fingers into the furry crack of his ass in one long motion. The fingers brushed over the muscle he’d let her play with and then the hand moved to his thigh.

“Can I call you Victor again?”

“No.” Suspicious, he rolled to his back and watched her with narrowed eyes.

She came forward and lay down over his body, her hand reaching for the drawer of the nightstand. Fishing by feel, she found the tube and cracked the cap open. Bold as brass, she sat up and slicked his soft cock, nudging it out of the sleep he’d wanted. Getting herself ready spiced her scent with a strain of nervous embarrassment, but the arousal was getting stronger.

Thinking she meant to kiss him, he allowed her to move in close. Then she ducked her head and opened her mouth on his throat.

He set his claws in the middle of her back before her tiny and blunt teeth could close on his skin. She froze, a tendril of fear spiking through her scent. His growl thrummed under her lips.

They brushed him lightly when she spoke. “You don’t want to?”

His voice slid out, low and lethal, “Get yer fuckin’ teeth off my neck, frail.”

She lifted her head to look at him. “I’m sorry; I thought you’d like that.” She moved to kiss him and he allowed it, but the growl wouldn’t stop. “Open your mouth … please?”

“What’s yer game?”

Her tongue slipped out and licked the front of one of his prominent lower fangs. It instantly made him shiver and her seeing that pissed him off.

“You told me I could pet anything I wanted.” As she spoke, her fingers touched his side, caressing gently over his ribs.

“Also told ya t’ lay off touchin’ me like that.”

She pulled up and straddled his hips, pinning his cock against his belly. “I know. Sorry … it’s … I’ll stop doing that.” Dropping her hands to his chest, she flicked her hips, the motion rubbing her pussy up and down his shaft as her weight pressed down. Doing it again, she bit her lower lip and then asked, “Do you want me to stop that, too?”

He dragged his hand down her back, leaving light red scratches on her skin. “Like I said, ya ask tha weirdest questions.” Moving his hands to her hips, he added, “Again.”

Obeying with a small smile, she didn’t stop after one stroke. Between shifting jolts of pleasure, a memory surfaced: a woman, sitting just like that – doing exactly that. Her breasts were larger, blonde bouncing hair longer, and the smile she’d given him had been one of pure wonder without a hint of fear or revulsion.

Victor pushed at ghosts in his mind, weary of those torments and afraid of their power over him. Dispelling them wasn’t easy. His brows knitted, a frown growing that sparked another growl.

“Are you … is this okay?”

He moved all at once, pitching her off of him only to fall over her a heartbeat later. His hands hauled her legs open and he was sunk deep and thrusting before he knew if he meant to kill her or fuck her.

Licking up her neck, he set his fangs to her skin and let them pierce it, his tongue catching the blood as it welled and dripped. The skirt made a soft, high noise of fear that spurred both fangs and cock deeper.

Hunger filled him; it sang in his veins as his jaw began to drop, allowing the teeth to take most of her neck between them.

“Please don’t...”

Lifting his head, drawing the teeth away from her, he levered his jaw back up with a snarl on his lips that displayed fangs. She gasped at the sight of red that smeared them, diluted by dripping saliva.

“Way ya smell, way ya feel – really wanna tear yer throat out, girl.”

“But I … want to help you in Vancouver,” she whispered.

Something in his thoughts, buried deep, shifted. He leapt after it, falling further into the beast within. Senses sharpened, yet the evidence they gave seemed false.

“What is wrong?” The female voice was thick with terror and echoed strangely in his ears.

Victor sucked in a ragged breath. “Tha madness … still there, lurkin’ in dark corners...” He’d spoken to himself, to the ghosts – but she didn’t know that. Confusion tightened his face when he looked at her.  _Who?_

“What can I... Can I do … anything?”

The firelight wavered as a frigid wind outside turned and poured in through the open window. It blew ashes and bright sparks out of the long hearth, swirling them into the air.

“Storm’s comin’,” he muttered. His body fell still, his thoughts clouding.

“Sabretooth … what is it?”

Sucking in her scent, he fought to identify it, and her. She’d been with him: her hair, skin, and her mouth – she had his smell all over her. _Tabitha Smith. One o’ Chuck Xavier’s skirts. Ya wanted ‘er fer somethin’..._

He shook his head almost violently, the tendons in his neck taut. Blinking down at her, his eyes widened as her features ran in his sight. Another snarl ripped through him as one hand closed over her throat.

Fighting the surge of red, of white in his mind, he reached for anything to stave it off, beat it back. A shudder went through his body and it moved within hers.

 _Mated... No, I was fuckin’ ‘er – shit, what is that?_  “Say my name, frail!”

“Sabretooth.” Gasping when his fingers squeezed, she yelped out, “Victor Creed!”

“Ya wanted this … ya still want it?”

“I don’t want to die, but I want … I want you to...”

Slowly, he began to thrust again, coaxing his body to satisfy his lust. His fingers eased, but didn’t leave her throat. Seeing it bared beneath him had abruptly been too much.

“Use my name, girl,” he ordered in a rough whisper. “Need it t’ remember...”

She lifted her legs and wrapped them around his hips, her hands stroking down his arms. “Victor...” Her voice shook, but the word was starting to mean something again already. “Victor … you are … amazing. Fuck me, Victor, please...”

Her tone had dropped into a burst of her own hunger, but he was too far gone too fast to sense if it was contrived. Yet her words reached him, drove him. Knowing the release could bring him back, he chased it, his thrusts growing rough, harsh.

With a burst of scent, wild and on edge, the snow leopard jumped through the open window. Victor gave her a chuffing growl, answered the low moaning noise she made with his own and then bent down to nuzzle the skirt’s shoulder and hair.

Slipping off down the back hall, the cat gave one more moaning call. He answered her, modulating the call into a soothing growl. When she quieted, he heard her find shelter in a dark corner of the dressing room.

“Victor? Is she okay?”

The odd question pierced the riot in his thoughts as the cat’s cries had, and slowly, the tide turned. He didn’t answer her, but tried to pick up his fallen rhythm again.

She attempted to move with him, but his weight was too much for her. Shifting his angle slightly, he listened to her voice speaking his name, the words around it blurring.

When he came, it was a shock. He almost bit his tongue as the heat of it tore through his battered senses. After, he couldn’t tolerate being touched. Withdrawing fast from her body, he rolled to his side.

Panting for breath, he watched her in silence until his pulse slowed. “Ya wanna go, then go,” he muttered.

“Are you going to hit or slice me if I ask if you’re all right?”

“Ain’t awright; I’m a fuckin’ lunatic.”

“I thought … what Wolverine did to your brain stopped that. You don’t need telepaths anymore, either.”

He tapped a temple with his finger. “Don’t need tha glow no more – still gotta stack o’ crazy locked up in here.” With a sigh, he fell onto his back, his hands limp on his chest. Forcing his breathing to slow as well, he closed his eyes.

“Do you know what did it? Was it … me?”

“Aw, hell, girl, I ain’t gotta clue. Play Freud in tha mornin’, huh? I’m wiped.”

“Should I go?”

He turned his head and opened his eyes to look at her. Tears were gathered at her eyelashes, ready to spill. For once, it didn’t please him to see her in fear or pain, or annoy him in general as a show of weak sentiment. His thoughts were lax now; the storm had passed.

“No.” He rolled away from her onto his stomach again.

“Victor? Can I close the window? It’s starting to snow on your furniture.”

Grunting at her, he hoisted himself up. Going to the window, he closed the heavy storm shutters first and then the glass, latching it securely. Stumping back to the bed, he tore the blankets out of his way and flopped into the prone position she’d interrupted.

He twitched when she worked herself under the blankets and touched his back, her chilled body trying to mold against him.

“Sorry, but I’m freezing.”

“Yeah, well, do it quietly.”

Soon enough, to his surprise, she fell asleep plastered to his back. Sleep eluded him for a long time as he hunted through his mind, seeking what had tripped him up, nearly overtaking him.

There were still far too many fragments floating in the quagmire of his brain and now and then one of them would trigger something dark and ugly. Choosing to be what he was didn’t take his power from him, but this threatened to take choice and power at once, and every time it happened, it got stronger.

 _What tha fuck did ya scramble in there, Chuck?_  he thought, a random memory of the thin bald telepath making him growl low in his throat, ears pinned.  _Don’t wanna risk lettin’ ‘nother mind-witch in there. With that inducer, I won’t have t’ get drastic; I can just sort out tha mess alone._

The skirt’s breathing intruded, reminding him that he wasn’t alone.

_Came within a lick o’ eatin’ tha bitch, an’ now she’s cuddlin’ up? What tha hell’s it gonna take t’ break ‘er?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> BTO is the band, Bachman-Turner Overdrive, and Sabretooth is referencing their "Takin’ Care of Business" song. "The Good, the Bad and the Ugly", of course, is that famous film starring Clint Eastwood. (@MET_Fic) - AnonGrimm


	7. The Enemy Within

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is a lot of Japanese going on, story-wise, in the bottom end of this chapter, but since I don’t speak Japanese by a long shot, I’ll be marking it off like this inside of the regular quotation marks: “[Yes, Creed-san.]” I’ll do that in the future for any language a character is speaking that I can’t type outright, after making a mention in narration of what language is being spoken at the start of it. Also, for those who may be unaware, the Japanese say the last name first, which is why you’ll see Obinata say “Cuvier Brys” and so on. Also, no, Victor’s accent probably wouldn’t sound the same while he’s speaking another language, but I’m going for consistency. (@MET_Fic) - AnonGrimm

I step out of my skin  
You wouldn't know me now  
Couldn't you go away?  
Shouldn't I?

Leave me the hard part  
It's all I want, I need.

I won't be your soft one  
I won't be encircled  
You might become  
Something I need

If you must know  
Must know  
Get closer

Should I go, away?  
With the dust of your skin  
In my – mouth

Don’t show me your weakness  
I can’t rely on you  
To know by now

Don’t show me your weakness  
I might become  
Something you need  
Something you need  
Something you need  
To destroy

~ Need To Destroy (T.H.C.)

*****************************************************************

Sam’s back was warm, almost too warm. Did he have a fever? Tabitha snuggled in closer, slipping her hand under his arm at his waist to thread her fingers between his. The hand flexed and five sharp points pricked the skin of her palm.

Her eyes snapped open, widening in shock as her muscles tensed.  _Oh, crap – I was dreaming. Sabretooth!_ She forced herself to relax, expecting at any moment to hear his rasping voice tease, berate, or threaten her. To her surprise, he didn’t stir or speak. Under her arm, she felt his body move with his deep and regular breathing.  _He’s still asleep?_ Dumbfounded, she thought,  _I slept through the night cuddled up to a homicidal maniac..._

She remained as still as she could in the dark room, wondering abruptly if it might still be night. The windows and shutters were all closed, as were the main suite doors. The sliding door to the study was still open, but only a dim light came in through it. The fire had died down to embers and the room was cold, but she didn’t feel it while she was pressed against her psychopathic bedmate.

Creed’s claws released her as he began to turn with a grunt onto his back. She risked waking him and moved, or he would have squashed her. On her back beside him, she turned her head to see the outline of his profile in the meager light from the study.

As the large hands settled over his ribs, the lethal claws partially retracted until they were barely showing, not even extending past his thick fingertips.

Fascinated, she studied his face. His mouth was closed, the deep and even breath through his nose devoid of any snoring. His lips, their line broken by the sharp lower fangs, were not thin; his habit of stretching them into cruel smirks or frightening toothy grins only left that impression.

The cheekbones were high, the brow heavy but in proportion to the rest and his broad chin had a wide, shallow cleft in it she hadn’t noticed at first due to the scruffy stubble on his face.

 _Everything about you is bigger than it should be – how did anyone ever mistake you for human? Got to admit it ‘Tooth, I’m even more shocked that you don’t snore._ His face was relaxed, the brow and upper lip, so often furrowed and curled in frowns, snarls, and evil grins were smooth.  _Damn it, you are pretty – do you have any idea how cosmically wrong that is?_

She struggled not to flinch when the planes of his face tightened into a frown, the ears pinning and the upper lip she’d just been admiring pulling up into a characteristic snarl. When he spoke, she almost answered, until she realized with a start that he was speaking in his sleep.

“Quiet … be … no.” His head turned slightly to the left and right, then stilled. The snarl fell, smoothing again into an open expression she’d never seen on his face awake. “I’ll keep … keep ya … with me, keep ya … safe...”

He shifted his shoulders and Tabitha’s gaze dropped to his hands. As she watched, the claws lengthened, tearing wounds in the skin at his fingertips as the narrow metal edge pushed out, lifted, and curled just like a cat’s claw. Only when they were fully extended did it appear as if the fingers possessed a wide nail bed of gleaming adamantium.

Creed moaned, a long and low noise of loss that made her heart constrict in spite of her growing fear. His face tightened again, but with pain instead of rage.

 _Jubes said Wolverine wakes up violently sometimes – this might be bad. Maybe I could slip out and –_ Before she began to move, he spoke a name and she froze in shock at his broken tone.

“Bonnie … no...”

He shifted restlessly once more and then went still all at once as if a switch had been thrown in his brain. Stunned, Tabitha looked down to see the claws retracting slowly. The metal pulled in, rose up as it became thinner along the top, and then sank into the broad fingertips. She watched the red edges of the cut skin draw together and quickly heal over.

Forcing her breathing to slow and even out, she looked back up at Creed’s face and yelped at the twin slits of amber staring back at her.

He moved fast, sitting up and twisting to lean over her, one hand on the join of her neck and shoulder – in the exact spot she’d seen him grab to break men’s necks.

“Yer gonna lie t’ me, ain’t ya, girl?”

“N-no!”

“What’d ya hear?”

“You said a name, you said you were going to keep someone and keep them safe.” He glared down at her and she added, “It’s the truth, I swear. You … told them to be quiet first...”

“Tha name... Tell me!”

“Bonnie!”

He growled in her face, the teeth dripping saliva. “Sure those boys didn’t tell ya that?”

“No!” The fingers clenched tight. “Wait – Perrin said you talk in your sleep sometimes – that he heard you say a name, but he wouldn’t tell me what it was. He got mad at me when I tried to push about it! I swear, please … please, it’s the truth...”

She couldn’t help the shudder that gripped her when his tongue lashed out to lick the saliva off of his chin before it dripped onto her chest. His body and fingers were still as he stared at her, sniffing the air between them.

Tabitha tried to go limp. When a sharp explosion of noise erupted behind him, her body jerked and she would have screamed if his hand hadn’t moved to cover her mouth.

The noise had barely made his shoulders twitch and she realized it was the cell phone. She would be hard-pressed to call it a song, but as it went on, it sunk into her brain that it was a cacophony of an electric guitar and a man’s voice screaming militant lyrics in German – some sort of rough cut of a Metal tune.

“Shut up, frail.”

Turning away from her, he picked up the phone and the noise stopped, but Creed didn’t answer it and it dawned on her that it had been some sort of alarm he’d set.

Creed put the phone down on top of his book on the nightstand and scrubbed his face with his palms. Between his fingers, he spoke to her, the words a menacing rasp.

“Sit up an’ listen up.”

Tabitha sat up and turned to face him, her hands holding the blankets against her chest.

“Ain’t gonna tell ya more’n once: forget every motherfuckin’ word o’ that. Bring it up t’ me, or any other soul on this planet, an’ I’ll hunt ya down tha minute I hear ‘bout it an’ start killin’ ya. Promise ya, frail, it’ll be a week before ya die.” His hands dropped, the claws sprang out and he twisted his torso again to take her face between them. One thumb pad touched her cheek, the tip of the claw poised half an inch from her pupil. “Tell me ya understand, Tabitha.”

“I understand... Oh God, please – I promise.”

Flexing the thumb back to lift the claw higher, he let the pad of it stroke her cheek before he released her.

He got up without looking at her and went to the window that he had closed during the snowstorm. Unlatching and opening it, he opened the shutters as well, the soft morning sunlight bathing him in a golden glow. It flashed off of the claws as he turned back to her.

“Gotta grab a shower an’ get outta here, probly be back t’morrow; we’ll start buildin’ ya int’ a more efficient X-chump then.”

“Can I go? Out of the room, I mean?”

“Nope. Stay here ‘til I say diff’rent. Better not smell ya anywhere near tha phone, neither.”

“I won’t touch it.”

“Unclench, girl – ain’t gonna eat ya, if ya behave.” He moved over to the fireplace.

“Do I have to stay in the bed?”

Creed chuckled. “Best place fer a woman, ain’t it?” Taking chopped wood off of a brass holder, he picked up a long, heavy poker and coaxed the fire back to life. The manila envelope he pulled papers from to use as tinder looked familiar.

“That picture of you they gave me was a little misleading.”

“This one?” He held it up to look at it, leaning the poker against his thigh as he tossed the entire envelope onto the new blaze. “Surveillance photo, from when I went t’ Rothenberg’s place in Vancouver an’ told ‘im no – shitty quality an’ ancient history. Somethin’ tells me he didn’t wish ya a helluva lotta success in yer mission.”

Creed spun the photo into the flames, replaced the poker in its stand and approached the bed. Smirking at her, he bent to pick up her bathrobe and tossed it in her lap. Tabitha clutched the blankets tighter, making no move to touch it.

“I know yer gonna be tempted t’ play Nancy Drew an’ poke ‘round – don’t care if ya do, long as ya don’t mess anythin’ up. Keep t’ tha study an’ master suite. If ya need tha bathroom, come right on in, ya won’t bother me none.”

“I’ve filled my quota of being observed while I pee, thanks,” she muttered.

“Heh. What ya an’ tha cornhusker did fer kicks ain’t any interest t’ me, girl. Water sports ain’t my thing.”

Tabitha bit her tongue, twisting the edge of the blankets in her fists as he passed the foot of the bed. She turned her head to track him until he disappeared down the hall that led to the bathroom.

Glancing guiltily at the phone, she wondered if the screen would be locked and if it wasn’t, what had been the speed dial for Iron Man. In the distance, she heard the toilet flush, and then a shower started up.

 _Don’t even think about it, Tab. You know that asshole can hear you breathe even when his head’s under the water. Besides, if you aren’t so sure Professor Xavier would bother with you, why the hell would Iron Man waste his time? Even if you reached him, you’d be dead before you could tell him you needed help._ She shuddered again, thinking of Creed’s latest threat.  _Or you’d be dead a week from now; either way, it would mess up your morning._

Tabitha tried to relax, but her thoughts were whirling. The events of the night before and now this morning, left her so tense that her muscles ached.

_Get up, walk it out. Hell, get your mind off it by ‘playing Nancy Drew’. How often do you get a personal invitation to snoop around in a psychopath’s bedroom? I wonder if he has a secret porn stash._

Slowly uncurling, her eyes continuously darting back to the hallway, she grabbed the bathrobe and wrapped it around her. She intended to snoop, perhaps in the study as well, but her feet went the other way. As the sound of the shower grew louder, she berated herself, gulping as she crept to the bathroom as if pulled there on a string.

 _You know he killed that Bonnie woman, he must have – it’s what he does. Remember what Brys said about women tossed into that horrible pit in the dungeon?_  Holding herself tighter, she sighed.  _So why did he sound so … broken … when he said her name? A woman who got to Sabretooth_ _; I bet she chewed glass and pissed diesel_ _– probably had a notch on her lipstick case for every kink in the book._

Tabitha didn’t think for one moment that the man didn’t know she was leaning in the doorway, almost hugging the wall. Even turned away from her with his head thrown back, the water splashing on his face and chest, she knew he could smell her there.

The shower had several jets at different heights and most of them were on. The back wall was black stone, probably marble like the walls, but the shower was enclosed in glass. Sabretooth should have been plainly visible through it, but the water was so hot that he moved in and out of a cloud of steam.

Planes and bunches of muscle became clearly defined only to fade and disappear as he turned or stepped back.

 _This is not smart, Tab. Holy crap, he’s … beautiful. No,_ she chastised, frowning, _he’s a sick and demented bastard, a murderer._  Sighing again as the truth intruded on her thoughts, she slumped into the wall, the point of it pressing into her chest and cheek.  _You know what Victor Creed really is, even if he won’t admit it. He’s a man who was raised by a monster – until all he knew how to be was a monster._

She watched him rinse out his long hair, the golden wet ropes falling and sticking to his skin. He wasn’t pale, either, which had always surprised her. Even more surprising was the lack of tan lines anywhere and the fact that he could manage a light tan through all that body fur. The mental image of him tanning nude on a rooftop somewhere made her chuckle.

Creed disappeared into the steam again, and then one palm pressed against the glass, the claws on the fingers only partially extended. She didn’t flinch when the amber eyes appeared above the sharp smile, but she couldn’t stop the shudder that flew down her spine when he drew a smiley face on the fogged glass.

Tabitha waited for him to open the door to the shower and order her to join him, but he didn’t do it.

_He was right – you are crazy. Go check out that big wardrobe cabinet in the bedroom and live to fight another day, huh? Maybe that’s where he hides his magazine collection of Play-Cannibal._

She straightened, but only to shift and put her back to the wall. When he turned off the water and opened the door, she tried not to tremble. She’d had enough evidence of his mercurial moods to inspire her to flee, but she stayed rooted in place, trying not to let her gaze wander over his muscled abs and legs. Most of the shorter fur was too blonde to be obvious if you weren’t up close. She was far too close.

“Playin’ valet instead? Works fer me – hand me tha towel.”

Forcing herself to move, to obey, she picked up the heavy folded white towel on the sink counter and walked over to hand it to him. The water on his skin where there was no fur to absorb it was distracting – rivulets of it streaming down and dripping off until they were wiped away by rough rubs with the towel.

“Cat got yer tongue? Or are ya thinkin’ yer gonna miss me, so yer gettin’ a good eyeful t’ tide ya over?” When she remained silent, he frowned. “If yer thinkin’ ‘bout shit ya shouldn’t be, best t’ let tha cat keep yer tongue.”

“I-I wasn’t. Thinking, I mean.”

“Heh, no kiddin’ – certifiable’s what ya are.”

Tabitha couldn’t stop a smile from quirking the corners of her lips when he attacked his hair with the towel just like Sam used to.  _Must be a guy thing_ _, regardless of mental health._

“Funny – didn’t I lecture ya once ‘bout starin’ at me all tha time?”

“Not to do it like an insect specimen is what you said. I’m just … admiring the view.”

“Yeah, well, ‘tha view’ needs ya t’ get outta ‘is fuckin’ way.”

She moved out of the doorway, but he went to the sink to wipe the mirror with his towel. Slipping back to her vigil while hugging the edge of the wall, she tried to keep quiet.

Creed dropped the towel on the counter by the sink and stood there letting his damp hair drip down his back. She was so engrossed in watching the droplets, she almost missed the fact that he was actually shaving.

With his odd fondness for gadgets and fancy things, she was surprised that he was using an old-fashioned straight razor to scrape his chin and upper lip smooth. Cleaning up the edges of the mutton chop sideburns, he finished under his jaw and up his throat.

Putting the razor down and dropping the brush back into the mug of lather, he turned on the sink and let that water steam too, before splashing it up to rinse his face and neck. Retrieving the towel, he dried his face before looking up to stare back at her as the mirror slowly fogged again.

“Fascinated, girl? Never saw a man shave before? Not surprisin’, all tha boys ya go fer.”

“Not with one of those.”

“Some things, I like t’ keep simple; ‘sides, it’s tha only sorta shave that lasts worth a damn on me.”

“So are you sprucing up for this Ellison, or someone else?”

“Fer me, that’s who; can’t run ‘round in a fancy suit lookin’ like a yeti.” He grabbed a bottle from the counter and slapped on some sort of cologne that smelled like sandalwood. “Ya gotta prob with it?”

“No, it’s just a bit weird to watch you do normal guy things, I guess.”

“Spend plenty o’ time doin’ tha scruffy maniac thing; do it ‘round some folks just so’s they’ll keep thinkin’ I’m an idiot.” Turning, he winked at her. “Though I ‘spose Ellison might be less o’ a tremblin’ weasel if I look somewhat civilized – fer tha cat’s sake, natch.”

“Of course. Who is Ellison?”

“He’s an irritatin’ flatscan who works with a group that protects an’ rescues cats – big ones. Lotta assholes think it’s great t’ have a pet tiger or lion, an’ they’re cute when they’re cubs. Then they get big an’ tha morons can’t deal with ‘em anymore. Tha group goes after tha ones that abuse ‘em, or lock ‘em up an’ starve ‘em. Ellison’s their liaison, he’s got tha sorta contacts I need t’ make sure tha snow leopard gets somewhere safe. Anybody ever got wind o’ tha fact that she’s been fed people, they’d just kill ‘er. Ain’t a whole lotta snow leopards runnin’ ‘round – she needs t’ get goin’ on keepin’ ‘er species from swirlin’ down tha drain. I been helpin’ ‘er t’ remember what she is an’ teachin’ ‘er some huntin’ tricks t’ give ‘er an edge.”

“I’m … impressed.”

“Gee, Tabitha, that just makes my fuckin’ day.”

She backed into the hall when he came at her and watched him head for the dressing room. “Do you want me to go away?”

“Told ya t’ stick ‘round, frail; if ya wanna spend yer mornin’ starin’ at my ass, be my guest.”

“Okay, then.” Tabitha followed after him, ignoring the voice in her head that screamed at her to slip off to a safer place.  _Translation: any room the demented killer is not currently in._

When she entered the dressing room, he was zipping up a pair of dark gray suit pants. She sat on one of the long divans and watched as he dressed, managing not to flinch when he sat beside her to put on dark socks and a pair of black leather dress shoes.

“Shoes don’t bother you?”

“They’re a necessary evil – part o’ tha costume.”

“A Versace costume.”

“It’ll drive a bleedin’ heart tree-hugger like Ellison nuts; that’s why I’m gonna pull out all o’ tha stops – see if he’s dumb ‘nuff  t’ ask why I don’t give my money t’ tha needy or some shit.”

“Just to annoy the man whose help you need?”

“Yup. Gotta keep up my rep fer bein’ a bastard, don’t I?”

He rose and picked up a narrow black silk tie, the gold watch, and fancy diamond cufflinks. White dress shirt still open and tailored jacket unbuttoned, he straddled the divan and sat facing her. He set the tie on her lap and handed her the watch as he put on the cufflinks.

“Wow. I wouldn’t want to try pronouncing that. It’s pricey, huh?”

“Bvlgari,” he said, pronouncing the first syllable for her as ‘bull’, “from tha Diagono line – tha V in tha U spot is just fer looks, an’ yeah, it’s pricey.”

“Is it fun being rich?”

“It don’t suck. Make yerself useful, Tabitha,” he said, gesturing to the shirt buttons.

She started at the bottom and worked her way up just to see how it looked half undone at the top. She had thought the fresh shave around the sideburns would have made him appear less savage, but somehow it only heightened how inhuman he was.

Picking up the tie, he donned and knotted it expertly, but the finery didn’t make him look civilized – probably none of it ever would. It was more than the bestial facial features, the claws, or even his alien eyes. Maybe she could have been fooled if she’d never met him, didn’t know him – but she doubted it. Something about him reeked of cruelty and death, but she couldn’t quite put her finger on the root of it.

“Earth t’ Tabitha,” Creed commented with a sneer on his lips. He was holding out his hand palm up and after a beat of confusion, she handed the heavy watch to him. “Nearly all set. Yer addled brain recalls I said not t’ leave tha master suite?”

“Loud and clear.”

“Unless it’s t’ go int’ tha study; if ya can find where tha hell tha remote ended up, there’s a TV behind tha big paintin’.”

“Okay, but you didn’t want Brys waiting on me; do I get to starve?”

“Maybe I’ll have ‘im feed ya tha people I don’t like.” Grinning, he added, “Brys’ll bring ya stuff, but stay put. Should be clear weather ‘til I get back, so leave tha window open fer tha cat. If ya don’t bug ‘er, she won’t bug ya back – just steer clear.”

“Where is she, anyway?” Tabitha turned her head when he pointed under the hanging suit jackets. The shine of eyes gleaming in the lights overhead stared at her, making her shiver. “Is she ever going to forget about that hook kick?” She looked back at him and startled to find his face within an inch of hers. “What?” she whispered.

“Not a bit observant o’ shit, are ya?”

Tabitha stiffened, partly from fear and the rest from annoyance. “With you in the room? Keeping an eye on anything else is downright suicidal.”

Leaning back, he burst out laughing. “Point t’ tha frail.”

She was caught letting her eyes wander, but the deep rumbling that started in his chest was almost a purr. Her hand rose and then paused. “Can I … touch you?”

“How ‘bout we cut t’ tha chase an’ lemme touch ya instead. Ain’t got no time left fer a proper romp, an’ if we muss up my pretty, I’ll be late.”

He leaned in and kissed her, his mouth pushing her back into the divan as he advanced. Fingers devoid of claws invaded the bathrobe and opened her knees, moving one leg until she was straddling the divan like he was, if not as easily.

Creed broke the kiss and slid down to the edge of the divan, stretching out his long torso and dipping his head down to kiss her thighs.

Tabitha moaned before his tongue touched her. Opening her legs wider, she gasped when it thrust inside her, stronger than some men were during the main event.

The pad of his thumb, oddly devoid of callus, stroked the smooth flat skin below her navel. She couldn’t figure out why until she realized it was driving her wild, intensifying everything his mouth was doing to her.

When the hand lifted to grope at her breasts, she tore the robe open for him, writhing.

“Call me Victor,” his rasping voice spoke against her slick folds.

“You didn’t want me to,” she murmured, afraid. She was certain last night’s permission didn’t count.

“A man can change ‘is mind same as a frail can, ya know.”

“Would you … please … stop calling me that?”

One blonde eyebrow arched over the amber eye that stared up at her from between her legs. The other eye had closed in a wry expression that might have been humorous if it weren’t for the fangs gleaming so close to her soft, exposed skin.

“Ya want me t’ bitch ya out right tha hell now, or keep at this?”

Tabitha bit her lower lip as a smooth and strong fingertip moved back and forth, toying with her just short of the mark. Gasping again, she gulped out, “Keep … at that...”

Chuckling, he went back to thrusting his tongue inside her, and then licked it down over her ass once before sitting up to smirk at her.

“You’re stopping? Now?”

“Made a request, didn’t I? Bothered t’ ask nice’n everythin’.”

Flushing, she dropped her gaze. “Please, Victor – don’t stop yet.”

“That’s better.” He set two fingers on either side of her pussy and licked between them, the fingers moving and pressing at counterpoint to his flicking tongue and suckling lips.

Tabitha’s hips bucked involuntarily when she came, but the push of his mouth was too insistent to dislodge his tongue. It slapped and swirled, lapping clean every hidden cranny so attentively that she nearly went off a second time. When he abruptly shoved both of the poised fingers into her, she did come, her back arching.

Slipping the fingers out and sucking her wetness off of them, he moved up to kiss her again, pressing her down with his chest.

Bare skin on the suit jacket became a new craving and the feel of the cloth against her nipples took her breath away. Before she thought about it, she had lifted her hand to his face, a thumb stroking the sideburn there. It was surprisingly soft, unlike the bristle of his chin that had scraped her skin so often in his bed.

Creed broke the kiss and poised above her, watching her. For once, his expressive mouth was closed, a straight line interrupted by ivory spikes.

Nervous of his silence, she whispered, “I don’t know why I went to watch you showering instead of keeping my distance like a sane person.”

“Ya like tha way I get ya off; yer even willin’ t’ risk gettin’ chomped when tha mood strikes. Plus, we’ve established tha fact that yer fond o’ a diddle pre-mission.”

Daring to look up into his strange eyes for just a moment, she tried to smile. “I guess this’ll make you mad, but I have to say it anyway – I had a weird sort of crush on you in the Danger Room.”

“Do tell.”

“Partly from watching you – your body is amazing – but also because later on you talked with me, wanted to be with me. No one else did … no one but you.” Bitterness seeped into her voice as she added, “Of course, you were just playing me. Biggest dumb gullible jerk they ever slapped an X on, that’s me.”

“Not at first, I wasn’t.”

“What?”

“Ya heard me.” He rose up and backed off of her, standing to his feet with a surprising grace. Frowning, he growled down at her. “Don’t say ‘what’ just t’ buy time while yer brain grinds gears. Coy round-‘bout bullshit ain’t toppin’ tha list o’ my peeves, but it’s right up there.”

“I’m sorry. I just want to understand, that’s all.”

Huffing out a breath, he tucked in the shirt, buttoned the jacket, and began to pace as he talked. “After I could speak again, I didn’t remember fuck-all ‘bout who or what I was; got tha impression it wasn’t sunshine an’ daisies, though. A critter like me can always tell what folks think o’ me, an’ tha disgust an’ hate from all corners ain’t exactly relaxin’.” He shrugged. “Ya didn’t care.”

“I was a mess, but I didn’t want to face my problems. It’s easier sometimes to try to fix someone else’s. I know you think I only did it out of some weird kink quest, but it wasn’t like that.” Almost as an afterthought, she drew the robe closed and tied the sash before sitting up to face him. “You seemed so lost; I wanted to help you.”

“It was confusin’ as all hell, bein’ like that... Shit, I dunno. Ya came t’ see me an’ kept showin’ up; it mattered. Then tha memories started creepin’ back in, an’ that was worse. Oh, they were hurried along by tha fuckin’ Cajun an’ ‘is illicit morality lessons, but it was just a matter o’ time. Some o’ that mess I’d be better off without, though; ‘cept that I’d hate t’ end up like tha runt, barely rememberin’ how t’ wipe ‘is own ass most days, let alone who he is, where he’s been. Point is, girl, when tha peace slipped outta my hands, false or not – tha big black hole slid right back in. Ain’t ‘nuff  blood, pain, money, pussy, ass, or killin’ in tha whole world t’ fill it.”

Tabitha’s heart was racing as she tried to stomp on her rising fear, knowing he would have already smelled it. She wanted to believe he was actually opening up, trusting her with something real – but she couldn’t. She was quiet on purpose, waiting for the smirk or the shrewd narrowing of his eyes that would tell her he was messing with her head … stringing her along.

Creed watched her in silence, his expression almost blank and utterly unreadable. One hand lifted, the fingers brushing drying strands of long hair out of his face. All at once, he turned his back on her and the strange mood was broken.

The man called Sabretooth began to walk away, his tone low and distracted when he spoke again. “Gotta get outta here, frail; goin’ mad from cabin fever – pay no mind.”

His proud bearing seemed to slump a bit; it was a tiny change that nonetheless made him abruptly seem little like his brutal namesake. He swept one of his long black coats on, caught his hair up into a ponytail with a band from his wrist and headed for the doorway.

Swallowing hard, she murmured, “Tomorrow, then?”

“Probly. I’ll bring ya a present, huh?”

Brys appeared holding a black leather duffle bag. Creed took it from him with a nod before glancing back at her, his eyebrow arching again.

“Uh, sure...”  _Yikes; what, a severed head?_

She hesitated until the men were out of sight and then followed, planning to watch Creed walk down the stairs from the double doors. When she reached the bedroom, the doors were closed. She opened them, careful not to exit the room, but he wasn’t on the stairs or crossing the hall. Her gaze arrowed to the nightstand where he’d left the phone – but it was gone. Victor Creed had vanished without a trace.

~ ~ ~

“It’s the ugly metal wall art in the hall by the dressing room, isn’t it?” Tabitha asked Perrin. “The maximum security thingamabob, like in the kitchen and over the front doors – he went through the one here in the suite, right?”

“I didn’t see him leave,” he answered, “but most likely.”

Tabitha sat on the bed, still in her robe, with one of the ugly masks from the mantel in her hands. “I almost fell into it earlier when I spooked the cat. She bolted past me to get to the open window and I stumbled... It was on, too, with lights blinking and wires humming – but I managed to dodge it. The thing shut off maybe half an hour after that. Sounds like you know where it leads.”

“I’ve been up there, yes; strictly speaking, it’s not a part of this suite, however.” He moved to close the antique wardrobe cabinet, his gaze lingering on its contents for a moment. Turning, he put his back to it to face her.

“Out of bounds, got it. You know, the crap in that cabinet looks like set dressing for a horror film – or a kinky bondage porn shoot, what with the horse-size dildos in straps; it gave me the willies. So – into that, are you?”

“I’ve learned to appreciate it.”

“Meaning that stuff is all his taste? Wow. You don’t bruise easily either, I guess.”

“He knows how to leave marks where they won’t show – when he chooses to bother with hiding them. Also, it’s mostly for him, not for me.”

Tabitha stopped fiddling with the mask and stared at him. “He lets you tie him up and go to town with that junk?”

“As I believe you’ve discovered, bondage on him is largely a joke – it’s a matter of when, not if, he’ll break free; it’s the illusion he’s after, maybe... It’s hard to say.”

“Yeah, but, he lets you... There are knives in there, and a whip, and... I don’t even know what some of it is.”

Perrin smiled as he moved to the table and sat in one of the chairs. He pushed the lunch tray out of the way. “You didn’t notice the car battery and cables on the bottom of the cabinet? Some of those items he brought in as torture implements for prisoners he caught that where dumb enough to try to keep their secrets. I’ve since heard him refer to most of the inventory as ‘marital aids’.”

Tabitha shook her head. “He was chained up, beaten, tortured, whipped, and maimed as a child – why the hell would he make that a part of his bed games, ever? I’ll never understand wanting to be hurt.”

“Then why do you keep aiming yourself at his bed?”

She wished she could muster offense at the question, but there seemed little point. “I’m not looking to be hurt,” she muttered. “I just want... Oh, hell, what’s the use? Maybe I’m going bonkers. Earlier, he told me how he ‘really wanted to tear my throat out’. He said it like other men would say something provocative. I mean, what the fuck?”

“To him, it is provocative. We told you that you would either be used for sex or prey. In Victor’s mind, there is only the thinnest of lines between the two.”

“Yeah, I noticed. I know I can’t keep boning the man without getting seriously injured sooner or later. It’s just a matter of time, isn’t it?”

“Yes.”

“Gee, couldn’t you vague that up a bit, just to make me feel better?”

“Why? You know it’s the truth. When he tires of you, he’ll either kill you outright or make a game out of doing it slow.”

“Can’t I stick my head in the sand, pretend that he just wants to get laid while on vacation and when we go to Vancouver on business, he’ll pay me and let me walk?”

“It’s your fantasy.”

“I think you forgot your pom poms, dude; you’re doing a crappy job of cheering me up, here.”

“You wanted company for lunch and Brys is busy – I didn’t come up here to brighten your day.”

“No shit, Sherlock.”

She rose and carried the mask back to the fireplace. The long and wide mantel was crowded with them, most of them displayed on stands. Between them, odd bits of bric-a-brac had been placed, but the arrival of lunch had postponed her explorations.

“Weird thing to collect, isn’t it, a bunch of hideous masks?”

“He told me they’re from all over the world. Brys is convinced some of them ought to be in museums. They just showed up about a month ago; he said he brought them from another safe house, in New York.”

“Don’t know how I missed them before – I must have been too busy watching Creed like a hawk. He’s not much for bright lighting, either; I guess he doesn’t need it... So what else is up here? Oh – eww – okay, that’s like, remains or something!”

“It’s a stack of tattoos – removed from Rothenberg’s men. There have been quite a few over the weeks since Victor stole the snow leopard from him.”

“Tattoos... This is skin? I thought it was leather at first…”

“Technically, it is leather – mostly cut from biceps. He likes … unusual trophies.”

“I thought he tossed them all into that awful hole with the rest of his corpses!”

“He did. A few days ago, he went down and … retrieved these. I have no idea why – I was just happy he hadn’t wanted any help and I didn’t hang around asking questions. Dropping them in is one thing – messing with them weeks later is quite another.”

“Ugh. A few days ago, that would have sent me running for the toilet – I’m not sure if it’s good or bad that I’m not doing that anymore.” She moved away quickly from the raggedly cut pieces of skin. “What’s this odd glass box? Is that hair in there?”

“Don’t touch that!”

“What is it?”

“It showed up with the masks and he told me to never touch it.”

“Funny, he told me I could ‘Nancy Drew’ if I didn’t mess anything up; there wasn’t a ‘don’t touch’ list.”

“He told you not to leave this suite and the study. Do you know why?”

“So I won’t be tempted by back kitchen doors?”

“To prove whether or not you meant your promise to obey him. He’ll be able to scent it if you leave and it will make him angry – even if you’re standing right there when he returns.”

“Okay, creepy – but not surprising. That doesn’t explain the glass box, though.”

“We think it’s … hers – her hair.”

 _Bonnie._  “I’m not supposed to discuss that, with anyone; the threat was pretty steep.”

“He might have decided not to say anything so he’d have an excuse to hurt you. Just … leave it be.”

“No problem. Hey, if you’re not careful, you’re going to end up giving a damn about me.” While he gawped at her over that, she looked down at the box again.  _‘Don’t touch’ doesn’t mean I can’t look at it. Blonde and curly? Not what I envisioned for the twisted freak who stole Sabretooth’s heart..._ It wasn’t glass, either, but probably crystal; the thick curling lock was encased in it.  _One end of it is shorn off, straight and clean, too – was that the swipe that slit her throat? Why keep a lock of her hair? Curiouser and curiouser, ‘Tooth._ Catching Perrin’s nervous stare, she shrugged and moved off again.

“I’ll take the tray down to the kitchen. Do you need anything else for now? Brys said he’d come and check on you later.”

“Leave the pitcher of juice and I’m good for a while, sure.”

He took the pitcher and her glass and set them on the table before picking up the tray and heading to the door.

Tabitha ended up facing the cabinet again. “Perrin?”

“Yes?”

“Do you like hurting him? I mean, can you do it without being … sick or disgusted?”

“I like pleasing him; if that’s what it takes, that’s what I do. You’d be surprised what you can get used to, and in time … even learn to enjoy.”

Tabitha held herself tightly and stared at the cabinet and the bed beyond. “Not anymore, I wouldn’t.”

“Maybe he will just pay you and let you go.”

Tears pricked her eyes even as her body burned, missing what Victor Creed could do to it. She hadn’t had the guts to disrobe and look in a mirror, too afraid to see the marks he’d left on her – all of them in places that would show the world what she’d let him do to her.

 _Let him? I didn’t get a choice. It was lay down or die – but I know he’ll kill me eventually if I stay here._  To her reluctant companion, she whispered, “Thanks... It’s a pretty lie, isn’t it?”

The tears began to fall, punctuated by the soft closing of the double doors.

*****************************************************************

Vancouver International Airport ranked reasonably low on Victor’s list of least favorite places to be. Located on Sea Island in Richmond, British Columbia, it was only about 7.5 miles from Downtown Vancouver.

Convenience was only part of it, however. Security here thought he was a wealthy businessman and thrill-seeker, with his finger on the pulse of mutant affairs – and after enough high-ranking palms had been greased, they looked no further. He stored several vehicles and planes here in a private hangar, since the Yukon safe house, now his main base of operations in Canada, was too remote and rugged for most of his toys.

Workers paid by his banker scurried to tend to the black twin engine Sikorsky S-76 helicopter the moment Victor landed. He grabbed his duffle bag and nodded briskly to them before he walked away, heading for the hangar.

Standing in the huge open doorway was a small Japanese man bundled warmly against the cold. He was dressed as richly as Victor and smiling a greeting – one of the few men who meant the gesture without his scent telling a different tale.

Victor ignored the bow his banker gave him and didn’t offer to shake hands, either. “Coulda met me in tha city, Obinata; why tha change?”

Ryu Obinata adjusted his thin metal frame glasses and chuckled. “You are a difficult man to schedule a meeting with, and all too likely to slip away to other pursuits unless I corner you at the outset.”

“Cornerin’ me ain’t advice ya’d give any other breathin’ creature.”

“That would depend on my plans for them, wouldn’t it? Surely, I’ve earned special privileges by now. We have much to decide on, Creed-san; things that cannot be discussed in front of clients … or young lady friends.”

He ignored the jibe about the skirt. “Ya ridin’ with me, then? Seein’ as ya never bring yer own car.”

“That would be acceptable – if no one is trying to kill you at present.”

“Yeah, right – like ya wouldn’t just pop out an’ leave me t’ not die if they did.”

Victor passed him to enter the hangar and approached a black Bentley. The man who handed him the keys smiled nervously before backing away. The banker went to the passenger door and got in when Victor unlocked the car. After tossing the bag into the backseat, Victor slid into the driver’s seat with a growl of pleasure thrumming in his chest.

The smell of the red leather interior and the sound of the 530 horsepower engine felt like freedom. Grinning over at his passenger, Victor asked, “She’ll do 0 to 100 in 11.7 seconds, Obinata-san; ya ready fer this?”

He braced himself and replied, “If I feel the need to escape your driving, I shall.”

Laughing, Victor pulled out of the hangar without testing the Bentley’s speed record.

Obinata wasted no time discussing business. Victor didn’t look over at the slender mutant as he drove into Vancouver, simply nodding and giving short answers when necessary. For the sake of the other man, he had cracked his driver’s side window only a little bit to let the freezing air in and he was taking in everything the city could throw at his senses.

When the banker switched to Japanese just to see if he was really paying attention, Victor smirked and spoke it back to him.

“[I have heard from your man Cuvier Brys at the Yukon estate and he assures me I should have your package for Stark Industries in my New York office by tomorrow. If I do not –]”

“[It’ll be there, don’t worry – Brys ain’t in tha habit o’ fuckin’ up. Contact Stark when ya get it, I want that gadget tha minute he’s done with it. Where we headin’, anyway? I’m meetin’ Ellison fer dinner, so I got all day t’ kill – so t’ speak.]”

“[I have constructed a new branch office in this city; we can kill the day there. As I said, there is much to discuss.]”

Victor frowned and changed lanes illegally just to relieve his annoyance. The frantic honking behind them made the edges of the frown curl up a little. “[I get a chance t’ stretch my legs in a real town fer tha first time in weeks, an’ ya wanna coop me up in a stale office buildin’? Better have an extra secretary I can eat.]”

“[It’s state-of-the-art, my friend, not stale at all, and I probably do have one or two extra assistants. Feeding them to you is cheaper than letting them go, after all. The last intern I fired went right to the authorities to spill secrets.]”

“[No loss – ya own tha cops already, right? Slackin’ if ya don’t. Yer lucky tha li’l shit didn’t go t’ tha press instead. So tha great expansion continues, huh? How long ‘til ya gotta office in every damn town?]”

Obinata smiled. “[Not long, Creed-san, not long at all. The Ryu Foundation will one day cover the world in the shadow of its wings.]”

“[More fuckin’ romantic samurai shit; yer startin’ t’ sound like tha runt.]”

“[Speaking of Logan-san, I am pleased to announce that I have won that court case against Landau, Luckman, and Lake. As a result, they, and he, have been forced to cease and desist their attempts to harass my foundation – and by association, you.]”

“[He’ll cease harassin’ me when I figure out how t’ kill tha bastard. ‘Course, t’ be fair, I usually harass first. Watch out fer L.L.L., though – they got their fingers in a lot more pies than we do. Ya wanna go global – they’re galactic; I ain’t kiddin’ neither.]”

“[Duly noted.]” The banker gave him the address of the new offices and returned to bringing various business matters to his attention without pause until they arrived. “[Ah, here we are. Welcome, my friend, welcome.]”

“[Go on up. I don’t want anyone seein’ that I know ya personally ‘round here. Gotta rep in Vancouver, an’ trust me, ya don’t wanna rub elbows with me in public on these streets; not if yer still tryin’ t’ appear legit.]”

“[Very well. Although as my best private client, I would prefer to show you every courtesy.]”

“[I better be yer only private client; start collectin’ capes, good or bad, an’ yer gonna find out what bein’ harassed is really like.]”

Obinata clicked his tongue. “[Fear not, Creed-san – aside from the masses that bank with us, you are alone in the top boardroom with me, as always.]”

“[Not quite – don’t forget my complimentary secretary. I’ll see ya upstairs in a tick. Matter o’ fact, send ‘er t’ come get me fer my ‘appointment’.]”

“[As you wish, my friend.]”

Victor watched him just to try to see him do it – but when the banker teleported from the passenger seat up to the offices high overhead, all he saw was a smeared blur of color. Unlike the X-Man Nightcrawler, no explosion of brimstone gas, sound, or any other indication announced Obinata’s exit.

Driving into the skyscraper’s garage, he parked in a spot on the top level marked with the banker’s name.

Ryu Obinata was in his forties and he had managed Victor’s money for over a decade. With some of that money, the brilliant man had formed and built the Ryu Foundation from the ground up. The foundation was primarily a bank that catered to the super rich and it was rumored that it didn’t matter if their records were clean or not. To balance the scales in the eyes of the many governments he operated under, Obinata funded thousands of charities, programs, and political campaigns – all managed through offices that were scattered throughout the world.

It should have taken hundreds of men to run an enterprise of that scope, but Obinata was a multi-talented mutant whose brain was practically a living computer. He was also one of the few mutants Victor trusted almost without reservation.

Victor took the executive elevator from the garage, amused that the codes from the New York location worked for him here. He arrived in a sumptuous lobby on the twentieth floor that the average bank customer would never see and was greeted instantly by a young man in a fine suit.

“Good morning, sir – may I help you?”

“Yup – name’s Victor Creed; I’m here t’ see Mr. Obinata, ‘bout a new account. He’s ‘sposed t’ send someone t’ fetch me.”

“Very good, sir. If you’d care to wait just a moment, I will call ahead for you.”

“‘Preciate it.” _Not a beat lost over my looks; did my wily partner start hirin’ mutants an’ mutant-friendly types here, too?  Boy don’t smell like one – must not mind ‘em. Wonder if my snack’ll care?_ Victor looked around until the boy returned, impressed with the place in spite of it being an office building. It sported enough glass to avoid making him feel caged in, at least.  _Tha man made good use o’ my money, that’s fer damn sure._

“Mr. Creed?”

The female voice was young and unafraid. She smelled like morning sun, the leather of her new designer shoes, and a delicate rose soap. When he turned, she was brunette, pale and pretty, and close enough to the size of the X-skirt back home to make his lips stretch into a lascivious smirk.

“That’s me, darlin’ … an’ ya are?”

“Fiona Cavanagh, sir. Mr. Obinata sent me to take you up to his office.”

“Did he now? Imagine that. Lead tha way, doll – I’ll be right behind ya.”

As she turned away to lead him to a different and singularly fancy elevator, the look she gave him was one of the strangest of his life. It wasn’t fear of him, though her scent was abruptly laced with an oppressive dread of something. Yet the way she’d stared up at him had been almost … hopeful?

 _Maybe she’s as crazy as the X-skirt, too._  Intrigued, he smoothed his mouth into a friendlier smile with some effort and let the hunting instinct simmer beneath it.

Inside the elevator car, he stood too close to her, expecting her to shift away. When she didn’t, he almost spoke, but she beat him to it and the whispered question was a stumper.

“Logan sent you, didn’t he? He said he’d send someone else.”

 _What tha flyin’ fuck?_  A quick sniff told him little; if she’d been with the runt, it had been too long ago for casual detection, with too many men in between. Studying her desperate face, his mood morphed in an instant from surprised annoyance to amusement.  _Why not? Might be fun._  In a hushed tone, he replied, “Yeah, he did – but ya better have a code word fer me before I say anythin’ else, girl.”

Predictably, she wilted, her fear rising – though she still wasn’t afraid of him.

“Oh, God... He didn’t give me that. Please, I swear, I’m the one who helped him before, in the New York building.”

“When?”

“Months ago … three months. He had those lawyers arrange my transfer when Mr. Obinata opened this branch and told me to watch for someone – someone like him.”

 _Like ‘im? Hoo boy, is this bitch in fer it now. Gotta plot cookin’, though, huh, runt? Cease an’ desist orders be damned? Color me shocked._  Reaching out, he placed a gentle, clawless hand on her delicate shoulder and gave her a reassuring smile. “That boy’s always playin’ jokes – dangerous jokes; I coulda hurt ya before I knew ya were legit.”

“Oh, Mr. Creed … thank you. Now that you’re here, I know it will all be okay.”

“He told ya I’d protect ya?”

“Yes, but I won’t get in your way, I promise. What are you going to tell Mr. Obinata? I mean … what is your cover?” Blushing under his stare, she glanced down at the light that illuminated the button for the fiftieth floor.

 _Oh, lordy, I must be livin’ right! How many pulp noir tales did he stuff ‘er with before he stuffed ‘er regular? Ain’t gonna get bored now, not a prayer._  Moving one finger under her chin, he lifted her face up to look at him. “I’m gonna be ‘is newest filthy rich client. Don’t worry yer pretty li’l head ‘bout a thing – I’ll make sure ya get outta this in one piece. Now I want ya t’ do anythin’ I tell ya, without question, got it?”

“Yes, sir, I will.”

As his fingers stroked her jaw and chin gently, she leaned her face into them, her scent slowly spicing with a tentative lust.

 _Are ya a feral groupie, or do ya just miss tha runt that much? Obinata-san, ya may hafta kiss my ass later fer what I’m ‘bout t’ unravel fer ya, right under yer nose._  “Take me t’ ‘is office, then go back t’ work an’ try not t’ talk t’ anyone. What time do ya get off?”

“At five o’clock.”

“I gotta dinner meetin’ t’ go t’ t’night, part o’ my cover, but I’ll meet ya after that. Go home. I’ll find ya there.”

“Yes! My address is –”

“Logan already told me, darlin’. Don’t fret; I’ll see ya sometime after ten.”

“Oh, thank you, Mr. Creed!” She flung her arms around his waist in an exuberant show of gratitude, pressing her body against his. “You even talk like him.”

Gritting his teeth, Victor forced his lips to smile down at her. “Playin’ tha cards I’m dealt, is all. Straighten up, now – get yer game face on.”

Pulling away from him moments before the bell rang and the doors opened, the girl stepped out. An air of chilly civility settled around her as snugly as her tight-fitting white blouse and black wool skirt. She passed a security checkpoint, speaking to the guards there briefly and giving them his name.

By the look of them, they’d been told to watch for him and knew exactly who he was. Proof came when their hands didn’t reach for the heavy firepower he could smell behind their marble counter.

Following the girl around a corner and down the hall to a pair of ornate double doors, Victor watched her figure. The brutally high heels made her short stature taller and her calves and ass magnificent.

Before she opened the doors, he slid up behind her and set his hand low on her hip, leaning over to whisper to her as she began to tremble with fear and lust.

“Obinata can’t hurt ya now, darlin’ – trust me.”

“I do … I trust you.” She turned her face up, almost begging for more, but that was too easy.

“Gonna wear somethin’ pretty t’night fer yer knight in shinin’ Bentley?”

“I’ll do anything you want – just help me survive all of this. I think … Mr. Obinata suspects me already.”

Victor tossed her a wink before nudging her back to face the doors. Leaning lower, he murmured in her ear, “Try t’ be calm an’ leave fast after ya introduce us.” He let his lips brush her hair, a purr making her shudder. Breathing in deeply, he struggled to wipe the wicked smirk off of his face at the tales her skin told up close before the expression could give him away.

She opened the doors with shaking fingers, but her voice was steady and cool as she announced him. Obinata stood to greet him and Victor passed the girl without a glance. As the doors closed behind him, Victor’s amusement tore free, displaying sharp teeth in a Cheshire grin.

“You appear to be the cat that ate the canary – though the bird I sent still flies free.”

Victor ignored the opulence of the room and headed for the conference table. Pulling out the chair nearest to the windows framing a stunning city view, he put his boots up on the polished table and cracked his knuckles one by one.

Obinata left his desk and took the chair across the table from him, folding his hands on the wood and smiling. “Do you like our latest flagship building?”

“Got more windows than New York, I like that.”

“There is an office and suite set aside for your use with roof access. It is adjacent to mine and accessible from the executive elevator.”

“Might bring my new toy ‘round t’ see it; left ‘er at home fer this trip.”

He frowned at the wall that faced the man’s desk. A few feet in front of it was a massive and artistic fountain in the form of a wall of water that stretched up to the top of the vaulted ceiling. As he watched it, lights and water combined to form pictures, the thin sheet of water making a gentle hissing sound.

“Guess yer all int’ those in Tokyo, but tha fuckin’ things just make me need t’ take a piss.”

“Would you prefer I called for your bird to come back up and distract you?”

Victor grinned again and rewarded the man’s patience. “Ya ain’t gonna believe this shit. I just stepped int’ a dime novel bit o’ heaven an’ before I’m done, that bird’ll be plucked but good; worth two in tha bush, ain’t she?”

~ ~ ~

Victor parked the Bentley in the center of two metered spaces close to the Gotham Steakhouse at 615 Seymour, half hoping some jackass would key the car so he could kill them for it. Grinning, he used a claw to scratch the words ‘Try it’ on the first meter.

A short stroll brought him to one of the few Art Deco buildings still around, built in 1933. He liked his tech and toys to be cutting edge, but for comfort, vintage had its charms. The place was full of warm colors, rich velvets, glossy dark woods, and Art Deco details and paintings. Comfortable and large club chairs, private table nooks, lots of windows, and an outdoor garden patio with a fireplace made it one of his favorite haunts, right in the heart of the city.

Victor caught Ellison’s scent in the foyer, but after the hostess had eyed him like a designer bit of meat, he let her lead him to the private dining room up the grand curving staircase. He had booked the room for two reasons – it was perfect for discussing criminal plots, but it also had doors that opened up one end of it to a balcony railing that looked out over the first floor of the restaurant. There were ten dark wood and leather chairs around the long dining table, but his dinner companion was smart enough to choose one near the railing that left the best view of it to Victor.

The man who stood to greet him was only scant inches shorter, but thin. He had draped his coat on the back of his chair and his clothes were barely up to the ‘smart casual’ dress code. Victor was aggressively overdressed, but much like the cars he drove, it had its perks.

“Mr. Creed, we meet again,” he announced, hand outstretched.

Victor took it with claws retracted, pressing just enough to make him wince before releasing him. “I brought tha photos o’ tha cat, an’ tha faster we sort shit out, tha better. I gotta date.”

Smiling to cover his nerves, Ellison asked, “Our pretty hostess, perhaps?”

“Nope, but ZZ Top didn’t lie ‘bout skirts bein’ crazy fer a sharp-dressed man.” Victor sat in the opposite chair without removing his coat.

Kenton Ellison had never seemed to care about the trappings his family’s money could buy. He had adopted the costume of an American hippie, including the goatee and shaggy appearance. His blue-blood West Vancouver relatives were probably ashamed to be seen with him.

“First, I have a matter to discuss about the job. There’s been a change – one I think you’ll like.”

“After I get some meat slapped in front o’ me; been holed up in a fuckin’ bank all damn day an’ then they cater in French shit fer lunch! Sliver o’ bird wrapped in a lettuce leaf! I nearly ate one o’ tha waiters.”

“Yes, of course – I assume this den of animal products has a salad of some sort to offer.”

Victor’s smirk wasn’t pleasant, though he’d chosen the place solely because it would irk the vegan. “Ya should try a slab o’ beef; ya look more’n more like a twig each time I lay eyes on ya.”

“To each his own, Mr. Creed – a bit of lettuce would do you good, as well.”

“Ha! I get my greens by eatin’ vegetarians now an’ then.”

When the waitress arrived, she smiled and flirted with Victor, too. He tossed a wink at Ellison.

“Bring me oysters t’ start with. Ya got Sam Adams Utopias in those fancy porcelain bottles?”

“Yes, sir, we do.”

“I want six o’ ‘em.” Not pausing to acknowledge her surprise at the order for the $300 each bottles, he ordered an obscene amount of meat.

“How would you like that cooked, sir?”

“Can ya ride it in, doll? I’d rather carve some off as ya go by.”

She giggled. “Extra rare it is. For you, sir?”

Victor reached into his coat and took the white envelope full of a handful of photographs out of an inner breast pocket and laid it on the table. When the girl finished taking the order for Ellison’s rabbit food, Victor touched her elbow.

“Six brews are fer starters. If I never hafta see tha end o’ those bottles, yer tip might put yer kid through college, darlin’.”

Grinning, she answered, “Consider it done, sir.”

“I love this town,” he announced when she left. “Most folks don’t give a rat’s ass ‘bout mutants ‘round here – ‘specially if they think they’re rich.” He pushed the envelope over. “We talk my business first. She’s young, healthy, adjustin’ well, an’ coolin’ ‘er heels with me just fine – but I can’t stay up here after yer gig is done. I can’t leave ‘er with my people here, or take ‘er with me, neither. What she needs is t’ be back in Nepal. I can take ‘er there, but I ain’t riskin’ no fuck-ups, got it? That’s where ya come in.”

Ellison studied the images, all of them of the snow leopard outside on the grounds. No image or inkling of where she was could have been detected.

“She’s a beautiful specimen, for certain.” Replacing them in the envelope, he slid it inside one of his dangling coat pockets. “While I understand your situation, I cannot fly off to Nepal right now.”

“It ain’t ‘right now’; it’s right after ya finally gimme tha green light on yer Operation Ground Zero, or whatever tha hell ya were callin’ it. Bit o’ advice, too: if yer gonna start alterin’ tha deal, it’ll go better if I’m already a happy man.”

“I could increase your fee.”

“More cash ain’t a concern o’ mine. Personal cat delivery’ll get ya a lot further. My transport, my nickel fer tha trip, an’ I’ll drop ya wherever ya wanna go when she’s settled somewhere safe.”

“Mr. Creed, I can’t just –”

“Maybe ya got beans in yer ears, Ellison, so I’ll give it one more shot, on account o’ yer a good repeat client. She’s been through hell an’ I ain’t lettin’ ‘er go through no more o’ that shit. Call it a workin’ vacation; or would ya rather find some chump t’ blow up yer ‘environmental poison plant’ an’ risk ‘em botchin’ tha job?”

“You’d walk away from two million –”

Victor winked at the waitress when she arrived with their drinks and appetizers; he knew she’d heard the man’s outburst. “Thanks, doll. Off ya go.” When she left again, he leaned his elbows on the table and steepled his fingers together. A glint of metal showed in the smooth tips. “Told ya, it ain’t ‘bout money; I got money. Ya don’t come through fer this cat an’ I walk.”

“The authorities in Nepal would listen to you just as well, Mr. Creed.”

Victor popped the resealable top on the first ornate porcelain bottle and chugged it down. “Don’t bet on it; I’m on a lotta ‘most wanted’ lists, worldwide. I ‘preciate that yer busy with yer tree-huggers, but I need ya t’ play liaison now, so this don’t get screwed up fer ‘er. That was tha deal before ya became a client, remember?” He tipped a few of the oyster shells to his mouth and swallowed the delicacies. “Mmm, almost as good as pussy. Well, dead pussy, anyhow.”

Ellison cleared his throat and began to eat a few tomato slices, which he’d ordered without the crumbled bleu cheese. He nattered on about how busy he was for a bit. Victor paid more attention to the oysters.

“Some of my preparations have been affected by the changes I want to make, causing a regrettable delay. However, as long as the pilot plant is destroyed before they can begin producing chlorine trifluoride, we will be on track.”

“I first heard ‘bout that shit after tha fact. It used t’ be called N-stoff an’ tha Nazis wanted t’ develop it as an incendiary weapon an’ poison gas against tha Maginot Line in tha early thirties. Way tha tale was told t’ me, sounded like they bit off more’n they could chew.” Victor shook his head and slurped down the last oyster. “Now they practically use it like bleach in tha computer industry fer their clean rooms an’ keep wishin’ they could figure out how t’ use it fer rocket fuel. Ya know tha old sayin’, ‘Wish in one hand, shit in tha other an’ see which gets full tha first.’”

After killing his weeds, the vegan set down the fork. “Indeed. They are clearly insane. Perhaps I should explain the changes to the job before we make any decisions.”

“Shoot. I got brew aged fifteen years t’ savor.” The arrival of the meat was a welcome interruption. “Give us a bit, darlin’, would ya?” he asked the waitress. “Got biz t’ discuss.” He accepted the extra three bottles she’d brought with a grin.

“Of course, sir.”

Victor watched her shapely figure as she left – aware she knew and didn’t mind. “See how I’m ‘sir’ an’ yer just my dinner pal? That’s what Versace does fer a man.”

“I have more problems than being invisible to a waitress.”

“Yer loss. That li’l brunette piece could be desert. Don’t let yer lettuce get cold while yer explainin’.”

Ellison barely ate as he described how he wanted things to go down. Victor devoured his meal as he listened, now and then sneering at the way the other man picked at his salad.

“I trust you have no objections to the changes? Do I need to add to the fee now?”

“Do I gotta remind ya what answer o’ yers will get what ya wanna hear outta me? Tha original fee is fine – plus one favor.”

“Very well, I agree. This will be far safer for everyone and the planet, if they never even get the chance to push a single button. Remember, the pilot plant has to be razed to the ground, especially the lab, control room, and process plant.”

“Heard ya tha first time. Don’t fret – I gotta ace in tha hole fer razin’ shit but good. Fer tha rest, don’t forget t’ have my party favors in place.” He let the fork he’d mostly remembered to use clatter to the empty plate. Draining more bottles one after the other, he picked up his fifth and chugged it.

“Storage boxes in the records room, it will all be there and ready. We have impressive support from the locals, who all live in the area.” Ellison sipped his spring water. “Where and when do you want to meet for the trip to Nepal?”

“That might be a logistics puzzle, convincin’ my furry guest t’ get int’ a truck an’ then a jet. Gimme a few days t’ a week after tha job’s done, an’ I’ll call ya when I got ‘er on tha jet. We’ll come get ya wherever ya are, an’ head out from there.”

“I was under the impression you were in a hurry.”

“Aw, quit yer bellyachin’; ‘sides, that’ll give ya plenty o’ time t’ shovel some plausible deniability t’ tha press after tha big bang.”

“That won’t be a problem; I intend to be very publicly elsewhere at the time.”

Victor chuckled. “Peru might be far ‘nuff . I suggest pickin’ up some hookers, too, an’ play big tipper. They love t’ talk t’ tha press an’ most folks eat that shit up; tha perfect cover fer a wayward blue-blood eco anarchist.” He downed the last three bottles of Canada’s finest and with a scrape of his chair, he stood. “I got tha tip – ya got tha check, moneybags.”

One glance over the balcony railing let him locate their waitress at the front. He walked off without looking back at Ellison and headed down the staircase to speak to her. She was so obvious checking him out as he approached, that the older man working near her made a rude noise.

“Everything was good, I hope, and rare enough?”

“Yup. Pencil Neck’s gettin’ tha bill, but I owe ya a tip.”

She glanced over at the man and motioned for Victor to follow her out into the foyer. The painting there abruptly made him feel nostalgic, though he hadn’t paid any attention to it in years.

A burning cigarette sat poised in an ashtray, martini glasses and cards lay on a table, while the unseen card player could watch an alluring 1930s femme fatale in a white gown at the bar – as she watched him back. Memories of illicit gin joints during Prohibition tugged at him and he wondered if there was a reason the artist had painted the Jack of Spades as the top card.

The woman’s scent drew him back. She was an interesting mix of subtle and obvious, not unlike the lady in the painting.

“It’s really not necessary to tip me, sir. Are you staying in town? If you wanted to sightsee, I’m a great guide.”

“Ya don’t gotta go home t’ yer li’l girl? It’s gettin’ late.”

“How did you know I have a daughter?”

He could smell the child on her, from when she’d dropped her off somewhere that morning, but he wasn’t in the mood for the truth; he wanted to play.

Victor reached out and snagged the gold chain around her neck with one finger. Pulling it up out of her blouse, the small gold and diamond child’s ring on it glinted in the lights. “I’m a good guesser. Seems this escaped when some o’ yer buttons came undone between tha brew an’ tha grub.”

Her blush pleased him. “She’s with her father this week. I had to pull some extra shifts and he’s better than paying a babysitter.”

Studying her, silently breathing in her scent, he thought about the games he had lined up for the night. This skirt was a tempting thing and not a munchkin for once, though not much of a chase – but reeling in and gaffing a woman the runt had once claimed and wanted to protect trumped playing tourist. For the hell of it, he spread on the bullshit just to enjoy watching her lap it up a bit longer.

“Wish I could accept, darlin’, but my lady’s waitin’ up fer me; I’d best get on home t’ ‘er while I’m still a good boy.”

Predictably, she melted – though she had a good poker face on her. “Oh, of course … I’m sorry.”

“No need, pretty thing like ya; here – I promised.” He handed her a thick fold of bills in an emerald-encrusted money clip.

“That has to be over $600! I can’t take that, sir, I can’t.”

“Yeah, ya can. Tha clip’ll fetch a few grand; pawn it an’ take a week off – get yer kid back home with ya.”

Stepping closer with the money and clip clutched in one hand, she grasped his hand and held it to her chest. “Why are you being so kind to me?”

“Not a clue – any other night, I woulda eaten ya by now.”

She laughed nervously, proving she thought he was making a sexual joke. “I’d probably let you, Mister…?”

“Call me Victor, darlin’.”

“I’m Liane. Thank you, Victor. If you feel like being a bad boy before you leave town, come back for more raw meat and we’ll discuss our options.”

Victor smirked. “If yer lucky, girl, I won’t.”

He started to pull away and leave, but her hands gripped his. “I’m not afraid of... I’m … not afraid.”

Leaning down, he kissed her cheek, making sure the long shafts of his fangs pressed into her soft skin. Purring into her ear, smiling at her weak-kneed shiver, he whispered, “Ya should be, Liane; all tha shit ya do fear – is scared t’ death o’ me.”

He popped his claws, barely missing cutting her fingers before she jerked her hands away.

The shocked burst of her anxiety made him chuckle as he stepped back, went through the doors, and walked off to his car. Sliding inside it, half wishing he’d made her feel obligated to at least blow him, he started the engine before glancing back up toward the front windows of the restaurant. With a smirk, he drove by them slowly.

She had fled back to the hostess podium, still clutching the money. The older man was speaking to her and probably offering comfort. She looked up as if she could feel Victor’s stare and watched, frozen, as his car prowled down the street.

The thought that they might give Ellison a hard time about the incident only made him laugh.

~ ~ ~

“Home’s where tha heart is, Fiona,” Victor whispered as he climbed the stairs up to her second floor apartment. “Hope ya ain’t given yers over t’ tha runt entire – I’m dyin’ fer a taste.”

He had returned to the bank and from there, it was easy to track her. Halfway up the steps, he could already hear her in the small flat. Victor took a deep breath. Her movements where erratic and nervous, but she was alone.

Obinata had suspected her of disloyalty; it was the reason she was being fed to Victor. Yet disloyalty was enough for the banker; he’d been unaware of the runt’s continued efforts to infiltrate and spy. Victor had offered to get to the bottom of the plot solely for the ugly fun of it.

Lifting his fist, keeping his claws retracted, Victor knocked softly and listened as her steps rushed to answer it.

“Who is it?” she called.

“Creed.”

The number 202 on her door came loose and swung down on one nail when she yanked it open. Not seeming to care who might see her in the street, she stepped out in a bit of crimson silk to embrace him.

“Gonna catch yer death, darlin’,” he admonished, using his body to push her back into her home. Stepping around her, he added, “Don’t forget t’ lock that.”

Her apartment confirmed many of his assumptions. She was paid well, but her effort to blend in with her well-dressed peers burned through most of her cash. With the exception of a few feminine efforts to make the place a comfortable home, Victor had seen prison cells with more possessions in them.

The furniture was sparse and mismatched, though the place was meticulously clean. The bedroom door was open, as was the closet inside it and that was where her money was kept – on hangers and a wooden shoe rack.

He grinned when the lock clicked. She approached from behind, the scent of the rose soap stronger on her skin from a shower just a few hours before. She touched his back like a woman who knew what was expected of her in return for her companion’s help.

“I’m so relieved… I couldn’t wait –”

“Shh,” he answered, and turned. “Yer safe now.”

Hands reaching for her face as he bent to kiss her, Victor took the time to explore the taste of her. Her hands covered his, as if she didn’t want him to ever stop touching her. Yet he was always far more interested in the main event. He broke the kiss, sliding his fingers down her arms.

“Nice t’ know ya ain’t cartin’ ‘round a torch fer Logan,” he murmured against her mouth.

“He left me up here to fend for myself and I’ve been living in terror for months, waiting … but you’re here now.”

“Gonna make ya forget ‘is name, girl.” Hands stroking back up, he cupped her small breasts and squeezed them gently, his thumbs teasing her erect nipples.

“Your coat –”

“Later, doll. We got all night.”

He dropped to his knees so fast that she stepped back in surprise. Grabbing her hips, he pulled her to him, shoving the negligee up to lash at her pussy with his long tongue.

Lips brushing her shaved skin, the shafts of the fangs pressing in, he nuzzled against her, a purr riding his whispered words. “Open fer me, Fiona … lemme taste ya.”

Her scent charged with heady lust, her hands came down on his shoulders for balance before she moved one bare foot to stand with her legs slightly open. Growling, Victor’s fingers reached down, curled around one of those tight calves and pulled it, nearly toppling her to spread her legs wide.

She cried out when he shoved his tongue up and in. Working her into a weak and gasping thing, his fingers rose again. Grabbing up two handfuls of silk, he ripped the thin cloth from her body, marking her milky shoulders when the straps there were pulled before they broke.

When she came, he sucked the slick liquid into his mouth, lapping at her slit to get it all. She lost her balance, but he caught her easily and rose, lifting her in his arms to carry her into the bedroom.

“Oh, my God,” she murmured, her voice fluttering in her throat.

“Might make ya earn my help, darlin’ – whattaya think?”

“I think … I want you naked in my bed before I die.”

“Careful what ya wish fer.”

He set her on the edge of the bed and threw his coat over a small wooden chair at a desk. Standing still, he let her undress him, draping his couture over the coat piece by piece. Stepping back to remove shoes and socks, he grinned as he opened his pants and stripped them off.

Crawling over her, he fell onto his back and groaned when she grasped his erection with both hands without a moment’s hesitation.

“Ride it,” he ordered, his rasping voice nearly a hiss.

She didn’t wait, didn’t simper about condoms or lube, and as she straddled his hips and pushed it in, she was already wet enough to take it all.

With a grunt, Victor ground up into her, fucking her rough and fast. She wasn’t anywhere near as tight as the X-skirt, but he didn’t care – he was going to kill this one, maybe while he fucked her, maybe not, but the promise of blood drove him mad.

“Hoo yeah! Got it good an’ slick fer me, huh? Just thinkin’ ‘bout fuckin’ me got ya that wet?”

“Y-yes,” she stammered, her skin flushing pink. “Mr. Creed, I –”

“From where yer sittin’, may as well call me Victor.” He grinned again, displaying all of the sharp teeth at once and licking his tongue across them for good measure. “Ain’t a romantic bone in my body, Fiona – unlike yer dear Logan – an’ I’m real fond o’ dirty talk an’ dirtier games. Wanna play my way?”

Meeting his gaze, she swallowed any wise reservations in her head and grinned back at him. “I do, Victor.”

“Gonna lemme hurt ya?” When she hesitated, he made a tsk, tsk noise. “Said ya’d do anythin’ I asked. Were ya lyin’ t’ me, sweets?”

“Y-you mean like … spanking?”

“I mean bondage fun. Ya can tie me up later if ya want, but it’s ladies first, ain’t it? That’s how my pa raised me.” He snatched her wrists and held them tight, loving the slow inevitable mix as fear invaded her lust.

~ ~ ~

Victor breathed deep, high on the reek of her terror and the salt of her blood. The ropes of twisted nylon hosiery had burned her wrists. They were wound up tight and short now from all of the times he’d turned her body to her back or her belly. One smooth calf muscle was bleeding from a vicious bite after she’d kicked him in the chest.

Her skin was slick with sweat, his saliva, and smears of his cum. Lying beside her, he watched her ribs and stomach heave with her breath.

She had stopped making loud noises after the first scream earned her a punch to the jaw. It was purple now, but he’d left her able to speak, and then gave her reasons to spill everything she knew about the runt, his plans, and anything he’d done or might yet do concerning the Ryu Foundation.

Tears still streamed down her cheeks, but she’d stopped sobbing.

“Bet ya figured out it might be more economical t’ get good breaths in, huh, frail? Never know when one o’ ‘em might be tha last.”

She whimpered prettily and then moaned, gritting her teeth, when he pushed two smooth fingers back into her ass. He’d been nice at first, playing along, getting her hot all over again as she warmed to the kink of being trussed up and pleasured. Unfortunately for her, he’d tired of the game quickly.

Since then, every hole had been tried as he strove to eradicate all trace memory of the runt’s soft style. The fact that Logan had been in all of them first didn’t really surprise him, though, or bother him – he’d be there last, after all.

“Ya know, it’s a shame, doll – I’ve plum run outta questions fer ya. Gettin’ closer t’ dawn, too; ya know what that means.”

She licked her split lower lip, her throat working painfully. “Please … don’t kill me … please...”

“Maybe I won’t. I could take ya with me – keep ya fer a travel-size toy. Tell ya what, after I get my fill, I’ll let ya up, give ya time t’ pack a few bags. Ya own luggage, don’t ya?”

“Just … just let me go...”

“What, so ya can run t’ tha runt an’ cry ‘bout how I stuffed ya full an’ tore ya all up? Ya think he’d care? Man’s a bona fide slut, ya know. ‘Love ‘em an’ leave ‘em’ was invented fer that bastard.” When she began to cry again, he smirked, drinking in her pain and hopelessness. “Aw, I’m sorry, Fiona – did I wreck yer fantasy o’ ‘im givin’ a shit fer ya? Did ya think he loved ya? Hell, maybe he even said he did.” Victor laughed outright. “Ya mean yer mommy never told ya that a man’ll say ‘I love ya’ fer sex like a boy says please fer candy?”

Working his fingers in and out of her cut and crimson body, he pulled them out bloody and sucked them clean as she stared in horror.

“You’re a filthy animal,” she ground out through her bludgeoned throat.

“Careful, frail – ya don’t wanna make me mad, do ya? Gets worse if ya do.” His hand fell to his cock and worked it hard again with a few brutal tugs. “Fer now, I’ll be nice an’ fuck yer pussy again, huh? Unless ya wanna call me names some more.”

Just to be perverse, he suckled her again, proving he could control her body and make her come even now. Rising up and over her, he set himself at the edge of her opening and held her face, licking gently at her tears and the spray of bloody drops around her mouth.

“At least tell me … who you are? Did Obinata pay you? Is that why…?”

“Poor Fiona; it’s tha other way ‘round, girl. My money started ‘is bloody foundation.”

Her eyes flew open wide. “You’re the secret partner … the one he wanted to find out...”

“Who, tha runt? Oops. Guess he ain’t gonna find out from ya now, is he?”

“Let me go or take me with you, just don’t kill me. I’m begging you, don’t...”

“Shh,” he soothed, his lips at her ear. “Hush now, an’ lemme fuck ya; then I’ll decide what t’ do with ya. Tell ya what – I’ll set ya loose.” His claws popped and she winced, having felt them often throughout the night. Victor slashed the nylon, leaving part of it attached to her wrists. “Here’s tha rules o’ tha new game: convince me yer havin’ fun this time, an’ ya get t’ live. Got it?”

She tried to nod, but the cuts and bite on her neck made her gasp. “Yes,” she whispered.

“Loss o’ blood’s made ya paler, girl; that makes any woman alive tha most beautiful that ever lived...”

He shoved himself deep, his mouth catching the scream she couldn’t stop. This time, he was slow, even gentle, as she tried to cling to him, tried to pretend.

Victor moved his mouth to her neck, below where he’d bitten her before. “Fiona, darlin’ … I thought o’ ‘nother question fer ya. Did tha runt tell ya he loved ya? Tha truth, now.”

She began to sob again. “No...”

“Didn’t think so.” He chuckled against her throbbing pulse, licking the blood that still leaked from the other bite. “Ya just thought it was special, didn’t ya? Cuz he was nice, made ya feel so good... Am I right?”

“Yes,” she whispered. “Please don’t...”

“Know why I ain’t nice? Mind my delicate feelin’s now, ya gotta lot ridin’ on this one.”

“I don’t know why...”

“Cuz,” he answered, nuzzling her neck, “ya let that asshole touch ya. Ya gave ‘im a good time, made ‘is life a bit brighter, didn’t ya? Road pussy is tha brass ring t’ ‘heroes’ like ‘im, girl. Yer tasty, too – probly even managed t’ wipe that scowl off ‘is ugly mug fer a few rolls in tha hay, huh?”

“He was beautiful … and so kind.”

“Goin’ t’ yer happy place, darlin’? Might not wake up if ya do.”

She was drifting, likely from blood loss. Rather than make new holes, he sliced his fangs carefully into the older bite, opening it up again. Blood flowed and he sucked at it, letting her life coat his throat as her body worked his cock. When he came, he bit down harder, fighting against the instinct to close the fangs in her flesh and rear his head back to tear it out.

~ ~ ~

The girl stumbled, a naked and bleeding mess. Victor watched her move back and forth from the closet to the bed, where he’d dragged her two suitcases out and opened them up. She gathered shoes and clothes, both everyday items and some of the designer treasures she’d learned to love and hate at once.

He dressed slowly, enjoying how his attentions had almost crippled her. The odds were good that one of those rounds had fractured her pelvis, but he couldn’t be sure. He hadn’t been trying to, as it would lessen the remainder of his entertainment.

“Don’t forget that jewelry box,” he told her. “Ya keep glancin’ at it. Somethin’ in there ya don’t want t’ leave behind?”

She went to it and opened one of the tiny little drawers of the wooden miniature cabinet. With trembling fingers, she pulled out a diamond pendant on a gold chain.

Victor was behind her in a heartbeat, pretending to be gallant and help her put it on. Moving her dark hair, he sniffed at her neck, peering down at the stone that hung just above her red-smeared breasts.

“Why weren’t ya still wearin’ that, if yer brave hero gave it t’ ya?”

“Because he said … he’d send someone to help me, and … he never did.”

“Oldest tale in tha book, girl – outta sight, outta mind.”

“I was so sure he would.”

“Yup – so sure that ya believed my bullshit, hook, line, an’ fuckin’ sinker. Yer a credit t’ yer gender, ain’t ya?”

He stepped back from her, turning away as if to inspect her packing efforts. Listening to her heart pound in her chest, to the blood she still possessed rushing through her veins, the catch of her breath – Victor knew the exact second in which she made the decision to attack him.

It was the letter opener next to the jewelry box and she lunged up with a scream as he turned, slashing it across his throat. Instinct drove him to roar in outrage, but he couldn’t – her blow had done too much damage. Clutching the fearsome wound, he staggered, falling back onto the bed.

The girl screamed again, dropped her pathetic weapon and bolted to the front door.

Victor heard her struggling with the lock, loud sobs weakening her further. His healing factor buzzing to close the wound, he sat up when she got the door open. She never looked back, probably half mad and thinking she’d murdered him.

A smile stretched his lips, morphing into a leer as he rose. By the time he reached the open door and saw her running down the stairs, his throat had healed.

Growling low in his chest, he jumped and vaulted over both landing and railing – straight down to the concrete below. His coat whipping behind him, Victor roared and rushed down the dark street after his prey.

Turning her head to look, she stumbled and fell hard onto her back, too shocked to scream. As he advanced, she tried to crawl backward on her hands, shaking her head and moaning.

“Knew I bled ya too fuckin’ much – takes tha fun outta tha hunt.” He crouched beside her on the balls of his feet. “Time t’ say goodbye, Fiona.”

“You … should be dead.”

“Remember when ya insulted me before, ‘bout me bein’ just like tha runt? One thing we got in common, no argument – is a grade-A healin’ factor. Ain’t that just a bitch.”

Murmuring words in a jumble that made no sense, she grasped the diamond on her chest with her fingers.

“Don’t worry, Fiona – when I do see Logan again, I’ll tell ‘im what a good sport ya were. He’ll be so proud o’ ya.”

“Logan,” she whispered. “I’m … sorry...”

Snarling, Victor reached out and slashed her throat with his claws. He started to leave her there, but then picked her up instead.

~ ~ ~

“Try t’ be quiet, huh? My wife’s still sleepin’.”

“Yes, sir.”

Victor smiled at the man Obinata had sent over to help his client. The fellow wrestled with the pair of large suitcases all the way down the stairs to the waiting Bentley.

Bending over the girl one last time, he breathed in the scent of death like a drug.  _Left ‘nuff  forensic evidence, pre- an’ post-mortem; even if this bitch is in tha ground before tha runt gets wind o’ it, he might still be able t’ sniff out what I did t’ ‘er from ‘er tombstone. Merry fuckin’ Ho-Ho, Fireplug._

Victor tucked the covers around her head, pressing a chaste kiss to her blood-soaked and slowly drying hair before he straightened and went down to the car.

On the stairs, he buttoned his coat closed over the ruined suit, smiling at the thought of Perrin’s inevitable disgust at his treatment of his clothes.

“Sir? Mr. Obinata said I was to ride with you to the airport and help you load your bags there, is that correct?”

“Yup. ‘Preciate tha assist.”

“No problem, sir. Mr. Obinata said you were top priority.”

“Did he now?” Victor settled into the driver’s seat as the man put the bags in the trunk. Pulling a small object from his coat pocket, he grinned as the morning light flashed on Fiona’s diamond – a gift from the runt.

“That’s a beauty, sir. Two carat, if I’m not mistaken, isn’t it?” the man asked. He got into the passenger seat.

“So it is. Gotta have it cleaned; it’ll be a nice surprise.” Pocketing it again, he started the car and slipped a CD in. “Tell me ya like Joe Cocker.”

“Every day of my life, sir.”

Victor smirked and drove off. As the slow strains of  _Now That the Magic Has Gone_  began to play, he wondered who would find the girl’s body – or most of it – and how long it would take for the runt to hear about it.

_Fresher’s always better. Gotta date fer tha job at least, an’ a plan fer gettin’ tha cat back where she belongs. Now that I got ‘nother one o’ tha runt’s skirts in my teeth, maybe I can muster tha patience fer tha next game._

Settling into the drive, grateful that the borrowed help Obinata had insisted on sending wasn’t the chatty type, he let his mind wander along the path ahead of him.

 _Wonder if Tabitha misses me yet? Gee,_  he thought, grinning broadly,  _I hope she likes ‘er presents._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Victor has wrangled not one sequel to this tale out of me, but two … possibly three. I’m also plotting a story where Victor and Logan have to work together on a mission/adventure. Oh, and those sequels won’t have anything to do with Tabitha, I’m afraid. Make of that tidbit what you will... LOL.
> 
> PS: I’ve wrestled with this, researching madly, and finally decided to go with historical accuracy; therefore, Victor is being given a foreskin, and Logan is next! Logic (and research) states that men born in the mid 1800s, who were not Jewish, wouldn’t have been circumcised. Sorry if that bothers anyone. I’ve kept the edited mentions of it to a minimum in previous chapters. Personally, I don’t think it detracts from their feral yummy factor at all, and might enhance it. (@MET_Fic) - AnonGrimm


	8. Gift of Madness

Drowning deep in my sea of loathing  
Broken, your servant I kneel  
will you give in to me?  
It seems what's left of my human side  
is slowly changing ... in me  
Will you give in to me?

Looking at my own reflection,  
When suddenly it changes,  
Violently it changes  
There is no turning back now  
you’ve woken up the demon ... in me

Get up, come on get down with the sickness  
Open up your hate, and let it flow into me  
Get up, come on get down with the sickness  
Madness is the gift that has been given to me

I can see inside you, the sickness is rising  
don’t try to deny what you feel  
Will you give in to me?  
It seems that all that was good has died  
and is decaying in me  
Will you give in to me?

It seems you're having some trouble  
In dealing with these changes!  
Living with all these changes!  
Now the world is a scary place  
Now that you've woken up the demon ... in me

~ Down With The Sickness (Disturbed)

*****************************************************************

The crystal box was bigger than her hand, but it would probably fit perfectly on Victor Creed’s palm. Inside, the thick cut lock of honey blonde hair curled on a bed of black velvet. The box had a sliding lid, too. She had stared at it most of the night under the beam of the flashlight Brys had given her before she had noticed the thin line and realized that it wasn’t a flaw in the crystal.

At one of the narrow ends, there was a tiny curved hole and deep inside that was a button release. Puzzling over how it could be opened didn’t take long – one of Creed’s claws could do it in seconds.

Tabitha stood at the mantel in front of the mysterious box and sipped the last of her coffee. Sick of bathrobes, she had dressed herself in one of Creed’s t-shirts. Trying to wear his jeans was silly, but then she’d found the soft gray cotton lounge pants with the drawstring and that had worked just fine after she rolled the legs up a bit.

Brys had chuckled when he brought the breakfast tray, teasing her about being too young to be a fan of The Who. He’d eaten with her, and then left the coffee pot for her when he took the tray, presumably going back to whatever he did all day while his boss was gone.

“I wonder when he’ll get back. He kept saying ‘probably’, so it might not be today at all.” Frowning at the box, she whispered, “Why would you open it?” She nearly smacked her forehead a moment later, but didn’t want to spill the coffee. “He opens it to smell it – why else? He always smells everything...” Thinking about it, she bit her lower lip. “He kept it to preserve her scent. Who the hell was this chick?”

Passing the long row of masks, she left the mystery behind and returned to the study. Some of the desk drawers she’d dared to open before Brys arrived were still pulled out. On top of the desk, the closed laptop sat, secure and untampered with; she hadn’t been tempted to find out if it was still booby-trapped.

The most surprising thing about the desk was how neat it was – especially after Brys told her that they never touched it.

“Creed’s tidy – not what I’d have expected from a man who used to leave gnawed bones strewn around the Danger Room floor. Sure, he leaves clothes everywhere – he’s got the French Foreign Legion to clean up after him – but anything to do with business is another story. Still, there isn’t a lot here. I bet he keeps anything worth snooping over my head somewhere, past that ugly metal thing in the hall.”

Plopping down into the massive chair, she slumped and sighed, turning it back and forth with one toe on the floor. She set the coffee cup down on a sandstone coaster near the laptop and clacked her fingernails on it.

“What about a wall safe?” Tabitha glanced up at the few paintings in the room, in between the many bookshelves.

She’d found the TV last night, after digging the small remote out of the couch cushions. Figuring out how to make the oldest painting scroll away to reveal the screen, she hadn’t bothered to watch it, but kept it on for background noise. It had been on CNN and she’d left it there, just in case some tidbit of news had involved mutants or the X-Men, which none of it had.

Getting up, Tabitha carefully lifted the other paintings one by one to peek at the walls behind them. Finding nothing, she started methodically tugging on each book in the shelves that sat at a convenient height for Creed.

Long after her lower back began protesting all of the reaching and stretching, she gave up on his library.

“I guess the old, ‘pull on a book and the secret passage opens’ trick is too mundane for the likes of Sabretooth.” Eyeing the shelves once more, she huffed out a breath. “Bet there’s a safe behind one of them, though. He could move the whole damn bookshelf without having to empty it first.”

For a moment, she was tempted to stack the books on the floor and try to shift the furniture to take a peek, but the idea went as quickly as it came.

“That would count as ‘messing stuff up’; better not push it, Tab. You have no idea when he’s going to show up.”

Taking another sweeping glance at the books, she shook her head at the odd eclectic nature of his library. Most of it was heavy hard covers, part modern novels and part classics, and a lot of text books from colleges around the world on every subject imaginable.

One section was all medical, running high to anatomy texts. That had given her a shudder. Why would an assassin have them, unless it was to learn how to be a more efficient killer? The books on forensics and police procedures dealing with crime scenes and homicide were in the same boat.

She’d been surprised at the size of the history section; he’d lived through most of it, why did he need to read about it? Then she realized they might have been handy before he’d gotten his memories back.

Going up to those volumes, she pulled out one of the big illustrated photo books on World War II and lugged it to the couch. Retrieving her coffee cup, she sipped the last of the cold liquid as she sat and thumbed through the book, curious about Creed’s hints of what he’d been up to in the 1940s.

Deep in the Eastern Front, reading about a massacre at a place called Babi Yar, Tabitha turned a page and found an envelope, tattered and yellowed with age. Nothing was written on it and it wasn’t sealed.

“I’m not messing it up if I just look at it,” she whispered.

Leaving the book open on the coffee table beside her cup, she picked up the envelope. Staring at the two-page spread photo of a deep ravine outside of Kiev in the Ukraine, she gulped at the mass of bodies heaped inside the cut in the earth. Her mind flashed again on the number of the dead that had been stripped and shot on the edge so they would tumble in. She’d read about soldiers walking on the corpses with guns, ready to shoot again any that moved or made a sound. Then they’d been covered with other bodies and finally with earth – buried – whether they were dead yet or not.

Shaking her head, she turned her attention to the contents of the envelope, careful not to damage it as she withdrew a small black and white photo and a folded letter.

The photo was faded, capturing a moment of time in the lives of four men. Three of them, their black uniforms sporting the insignia of Nazi SS officers, stood near each other to pose in front of the ravine. Their faces were tight, as if they were overwhelmed by what had been done. The last man was standing apart, all in black and wearing a long coat. He was huge, his close-cropped light hair and smooth-shaven face half hidden by the brim of his hat. No insignia marked him and he didn’t seem to be in uniform at all, just normal clothing, maybe even a fancy suit.

Then her eyes snapped to his jaw. It was long, strange... “Holy crap!” Plain as day when she knew what to look for, the white fangs were there – interrupting the line of lips that were stretched into an obscene smirk. Dropping the photo onto the page, she stared at the folded paper in her trembling fingers. “Maybe I don’t want to know?”

Holding her breath, she opened it. There was a fancy Nazi letterhead and the letter was typed, but it was all in German. At the bottom of the page, a handwritten note had been scrawled in a messy script, but she couldn’t understand the language.

“Spared, Tab. So who signed it?” There were two signatures, but she couldn’t make out the first one. The name typed under it, Müller, wasn’t anyone she’d read about. Glancing down at the second one with the note, she sucked in her breath. “Oh, my God … that says Himmler.”

“Victor got around,” Perrin announced from the bedroom doorway.

Tabitha jumped and twisted to face him. “You asshole!”

“Sorry,” he said, smiling. “He told me that he played a game of poker with Doc Holliday once, too.”

“How do you know he wasn’t pulling your leg?”

Perrin shrugged. “If he was making it up, he’d have claimed that he won. Do you want to know what that says?”

“I’m not sure.”

“It’s a pat on the back from his boss, Heinrich Müller – the head of the Gestapo – for a job well done. A form letter, actually, but the personal note at the bottom says it all.”

“Those butchers did a real number on France – shouldn’t you be offended by this?”

“French Canadian, Tabitha, we’re not from France – and no, I’m not a fan of what they did.”

“Just a fan of his.”

“He is what he is and he’s done what he’s done; none of us can change that now, in this moment – including him. Once you grasp – and accept – that, you’ll have a lot more success surviving your time with him.”

“I can’t ‘accept’ this … this horror.” Her finger stabbed at the open book.

“I don’t either. Accepting that he is the way he is doesn’t mean you have to accept what he’s done or what he may do. Don’t be surprised and offended when a tiger won’t behave like a sheep. Also, they had all the power then and they were exterminating anything that didn’t fit a very narrow ideal. I often wonder if he learned his skewed ideas of the ‘choices’ he gives people directly from them.”

Swallowing hard over the bile rising in her throat, she whispered, “What does the note say?”

“It’s been a while since I read it,” he said, holding out his hand. She didn’t move, but offered it to him. Perrin walked up and took it from her, holding it carefully. “ _Der Reichsführer writes,_ ‘I am proud of you, Victor; you must visit and tell me everything when you return to Berlin. Do not stay too long at Syrets; the Special-Operations Units can manage without you through the winter. I have something I want you to do for me, personally. Yours, Heini Himmler.’”

“Heini?”

“It was a nickname for Himmler; something most of the SS called him behind his back, and not a compliment. It meant ‘little boy who is afraid of everything’, since he never fought beside them. Victor claimed he said it to his face and got away with it. Later on, he used it as a pet name – in private.” He gave her a wink. “The simple fact that Himmler’s using the name himself in writing would shock a lot of historians; it tells me Victor had the man’s favor in a big way.”

“They killed 33,771 Jews there in the first two days – lots of others after that, and Creed was playing footsie with the monster who probably penned the order? What is Syrets?”

“A concentration camp in the area. Victor told me he’d been stationed there for a time, until Dr. Otto Rasch, the commander of Einsatzgruppe C, asked him to help them with a ‘special order’.”

“Wait – you didn’t find this like I did; he showed it to you?”

Perrin nodded. “It had been in the safe upstairs. He must have forgotten to put it back and stuck it in the book after letting me read it.”

“He was … proud of it.”

“Himmler plucked him out of Auschwitz, where they were putting the few mutants that were alive in Europe at that time. He was turned into a Gestapo agent and used to hunt enemies of the state. He said he was tapped to work in the hospital in Auschwitz and ended up helping one of the doctors with his experiments there; that’s how he got noticed by Himmler.”

“A doctor doing experiments; you mean Mengele?”

“Yes. I’m not sure if he was helping or being experimented on – he wasn’t clear on that, but I suspect it was the latter. It’s possible if Himmler removed him from that, gave him status and power, and then used him to hunt and kill others – he could easily win Victor’s loyalty.”

“You haven’t just asked him?”

“No, I haven’t. If he gets evasive after being chatty, I’ve learned to drop the subject fast. That is another excellent survival skill you may find useful.”

Tabitha’s gaze flicked from the photo of a smirking Sabretooth to the photo spread on the pages. The image of thousands and thousands of dead people blurred in her vision before nausea rose.

She almost ran Perrin down when she launched for the bathroom. It took a long time for the retching to stop; when it did, she laid her cheek on the cool porcelain rim of the bowl and tried to breathe.

“Are you okay?” Perrin asked. “Can I –”

“Leave me alone,” she muttered in misery, “please?”

He withdrew without a sound. She didn’t move until she heard the double doors close.

“You knew he was a killer, Tab. Why is it a shock that he got started early, or found some friends to share his hobby with?” She lifted her head, waiting to see if her stomach would protest before trying to rise. “‘Tiger’, my ass. He’s proud of it – he was proud of what he did to Psylocke. Hell, when he eventually whacks me … he’ll probably brag about it.”

She got up on shaky legs and started stripping off the t-shirt and pants. Leaving them in a pile on the dais steps below the bathing pool, she headed for Creed’s fancy shower. Turning on all of the jets as hot as she could stand, she shut the glass door and stood under the water, waiting for tears that wouldn’t come.

~ ~ ~

Tabitha didn’t hear a thing until the glass door opened. Her breath came faster, her heart fluttering in her throat as the door was shut, but she didn’t turn.

Large hands touched her shoulders, the claws pricking slightly as Creed leaned down to nuzzle the back of her neck. His lips kissed her there, light and casual, the hard round shafts of the fangs pressing against her wet skin.

She shivered with desire and his chuckle sounded behind her after the inevitable sniff. Bowing her head, Tabitha silently hated herself for her body’s betrayal.

Something flashed next to her cheek and she glanced over, nervous. To her surprise, his clawed fingers were moving to place a gold chain around her neck. Dangling from it, a large diamond settled above her breasts.

“What is that?”

Creed snorted. “It’s called a present. Diamonds are a girl’s best friend, ain’t they? Guess I shouldn’t be shocked ya need t’ be told what it is, though – it’s not like tha cornhusker ever put one on yer finger.”

“Creed, I –”

“Victor,” he corrected. His lips were on her neck again the moment he worked the clasp. The hands moved back to her shoulders and turned her toward him.

Tabitha couldn’t look up at his face. She was either about to sob or cuss him out; taking a deep breath, she shot for a compromise. “Did you play bondage games in bed with Himmler, too?”

“Been at tha history books, huh? Didn’t know ya could read German.”

If he was smirking at her, she didn’t want to know it. The smirk in that photo was already hanging in her mind’s eye. She had tried to scrub it out all morning.

Clicking his tongue at her silence, he added, “‘Spose one o’ tha boys read it t’ ya? Nope, no bondage games; tha man was too soft an’ squeamish fer that.”

“Squeamish?”

“Yup, believe it or not; couldn’t even watch a man get shot – made ‘im sick. Ya sure as hell ain’t thinkin’ like a hero; hear ‘bout all that, an’ tha only thing’s got ya curious is if I fucked ‘im? Or if he fucked me? Answer’s yes t’ both, Tabitha – more’n a few times.”

The hands reached to cup her breasts, but she stepped back. “Don’t touch me.”

“What was that, frail? Sure I heard ya wrong.” His fingers tangled in her hair, about to yank her face up to look at him. “If ya ain’t gonna play...”

Staring at her chest, she saw the water strike the diamond pendant – saw it drip, tinted pink, down her skin. The gold setting, where it had touched someone else’s skin, had dried blood on it.

Tabitha began to cry and then sob, and if Creed hadn’t held her up, his hands moving to her waist, she’d have crumpled to the tiles at his feet. “I can’t … can’t...” Her voice rose with her panic until she was shrill and shouting at him. “You’re going to kill me … just … kill me; get it over with!”

Creed shocked her by drawing her in, pressing her against his chest and holding her close. She tried to struggle, but it was pointless; after one more ragged breath, she collapsed against him and cried.

She didn’t know how long he held her, but the water had cooled around them. “Please… Victor … let me go?”

He released her carefully, making sure she could stand before he removed his hands from supporting her. Before she could speak again, he sank with smooth grace to his knees in front of her. Looking up, unblinking in the light spray of water on his face, he waited with his hands open and still on the bunched muscles of his thighs. His cock was hungry, but he just crouched there, waiting … watching her.

Slowly, with her heart in her stomach, she reached up behind her and gripped two of the metal jets. The cold water struck his chest and sluiced down his beautiful body when she shifted, but he didn’t move.

“I’m going to Hell for this,” she whispered. One foot slid, trembling, on the marble beneath it as she opened her legs for him.

When his mouth touched her, the long tongue seeking and lashing, finding and thrusting deep, she began to cry again. The low and starving groan he gave her made her skin flush, even as the cold water and her choice to succumb again made her shudder.

~ ~ ~

Tabitha woke with a start, struggling for breath as a heavy weight pressed her down. Turning her head, she saw the shower door hanging open and felt upholstery under her: the divan. The weight came down more, part of it grinding inside of her.

Long blonde hair slipped down over her face as lips pressed gently to hers, the hard and sharp teeth working at being careful as the tongue parted her lips to claim her mouth.

Slowly, nerve by nerve, feeling and sense returned. Creed’s thrusts were rhythmic and as easy as they could ever be for a man of his strength and bulk. A flush crept up her throat to her face as the pleasure in her body reconnected to her brain.

Not sure she could move, she struggled to shift and raise her legs to ease the pressure on her pelvis. His hands gripped them behind the knees and lifted them for her, allowing her to wrap them around his hips.

She swallowed his cry when he came, but the kiss went on with the thrusts until her body reached its first conscious peak. Judging by how slick they were, it wasn’t the first for either of them.

His body going still at last, one arm took his weight off of her as his free hand stroked her damp curls. She met his softly glowing gaze once, but then closed her eyes, unable to cope with that quiet, focused stare.

“How did I end up … here…?”

“Passed out on me – so I got started without ya.”

“Would you let me up?”

“Why? Gonna be sick again?”

“N-no...”

He got up with fluid grace and stood looking down at her. “Need a hand?”

Water was running somewhere, but the shower jets were off. She abruptly noticed that the air was thick with white steam. Movement over her head made her twitch. “Who is that?”

“Just Brys, runnin’ our bath.” Creed held his hand out to her, a slight smile on his lips.

She took it because she couldn’t have sat up without it. Her skin turned bright pink when she turned her head and saw Brys shutting off the water to the bathing pool.

“Gotta prob, Tabitha?” Creed asked.

“I’m … not used to an audience when I’m...”

“Heh. Sex is a spectator sport, girl, an’ ya will be graded.”

“Wh– I mean … I...”

“I’m kiddin’. Come on,” he urged, tugging at her hand.

She got to her feet, but Creed had to carry her up to the tub. As he had before, he just climbed up into it with her in his arms, sitting her on his lap when he lay back in the deliciously hot water.

Tabitha leaned against his chest because she was too weak to do anything else. His fingers, claws retracted, laced together low over her abdomen.

“Did you need anything else, sir?” Brys asked.

“Nope, got my bath toy – I’m all set.”

Nodding once, Brys left the room, closing the bathroom door behind him.

“How long was I out?”

“Two rounds worth.”

“That … doesn’t bother you?”

“Why would it?”

“I don’t know... It’s not exactly wild and crazy if I’m out cold, is it?”

“Ya like t’ eat tha same thing, day after day?”

“Huh?”

“Don’t always require a rodeo t’ get off, darlin’. ‘Sides, unconscious has its charms; pretty close t’ necrophilia if tha skirt’s really down solid.”

“You’re an old-fashioned romantic, I can tell.”

Creed chuckled. “Now an’ then, yeah.”

Tabitha started to sigh, and then stiffened. “You aren’t kidding about that, are you?”

“What, tha dead thing? Nope.”

“Plus, you eat people.” Feeling slightly sick, but knowing he wouldn’t let her leave, she asked, “Is there a taboo left that you haven’t notched on your bedpost?”

“Hmm… Ain’t gonna bother kids in general, not my thing – though I have killed ‘em often enough.”

“Which is a huge bother to them and their families, you realize.”

“Quit yer yappin’; ya asked, lemme answer. Maybe incest – I think. Not sure ‘bout Luther, though.”

“Who is Luther?”

“My older brother; tha one whose demise got me tossed in tha root cellar.”

“You aren’t sure about him, how?” She could feel the rumble of a growl in his chest, but wouldn’t retreat when he didn’t reply. “Victor?”

“Not so sure he ain’t never diddled me, that’s how. Got some foggy memories yet ‘round all that – know it wasn’t Pa, that’s fer damn sure. Hell, coulda been tha doc – maybe that’s why I tried t’ eat ‘is face; missed an’ bit ‘is throat, instead.”

“You … think you were molested?”

“Gee, Tabitha, will it absolve me o’ all my sins if I say ‘yes’?”

“I’m only asking a question after you brought it up, and then you go all sarcastic on me.”

“Ya were tha one brought it up, goin’ on ‘bout taboos.”

Tabitha was silent for a while. Shifting slightly, she settled more comfortably against him. “I’m sorry, Victor, if it’s true; you didn’t deserve any of that – not then.”

“Do me a favor, darlin’.”

“What is it?”

“Shut tha fuck up.”

In spite of the words, they held no heat and his growl had faded. Tabitha felt weirdly surreal and started to wonder if she wasn’t still out cold and dreaming the whole conversation. Just in case it was a dream, she answered in kind while she had the guts – hoping he wouldn’t tear hers out for impertinence.

“Only if you will.”

Creed chuckled again, softer this time, and to her amazement, he did fall silent. She tensed a little when he shifted beneath her and the water rose to her shoulders, but then he relaxed, laying his head on the rim of the pool.

Tabitha let out the breath she hadn’t realized she was holding and tried to relax. Her thoughts were whirling, her emotions keeping pace with them.

“Hush,” he admonished.

“I didn’t say anything.”

“Yer heart’s goin’ like a jackrabbit, fit t’ break outta yer ribs.”

“You can hear … of course you can. It’s that … loud?”

“Darlin’, I can hear tha blood rushin’ in yer veins. If ya weren’t a damn kid, I’d worry ‘bout ya havin’ a fuckin’ stroke.”

Tabitha frowned. “I’m not a kid – or a girl, a frail, a skirt, or a doll. Darling isn’t bad. I like how you say it with that drawl.”

“I’m gonna die. Go back t’ bein’ pissed at me, would ya? It’s quieter when ya have a nervous breakdown an’ pass tha fuck out.”

She bit her lower lip a moment, and then asked, “You are going to kill me, aren’t you? Sooner or later?”

“Sooner, if ya don’t zip it. I’m tryin’ t’ relax here.”

“Now you are joking. I’m starting to hear the difference.”

“When I giggle like a bitch, I’m jokin’ – otherwise, yer takin’ yer chances.”

“That’s what I’m talking about; you sound lazy – half amused, half irked, but it’s different. When you’re serious about threatening people, you get really intense. Loud and angry, or quiet and spooky, that’s the ‘oh shit’ stuff.”

“Ain’t ya got somethin’ better t’ do than try my patience?”

“Sure – I could go back to New York, get out of your hair completely.”

“Naw, ya’d miss me.”

“I’d cope.”

She yelped when he sat up, but his hands on her arms kept her head from going under. He turned her in his lap, grunting when her knee grazed his groin.

Tabitha held her breath again under the silent scrutiny of narrowed amber eyes, but she couldn’t feel the fear as acutely as before.  _I guess hopeless conviction is a great sedative._

Creed leaned close, turning his head to nuzzle at her neck, scenting her skin. She could feel the grin under the mop of blonde hair. “Yer innards won’t shut up neither, but ya smell diff’rent … better.”

“I spent all morning in your shower, trying to wash you off of me.”

“Now yer tryin’ t’ tick me off, but it ain’t gonna work.”

She started to retort, but his lips began kissing her throat. His head lifted to kiss her cheek, fingers brushing her hair back gently. She turned to catch his mouth and the kiss was deep, intense … passionate.

He broke it, but didn’t pull away; pressing his forehead to hers, his alien eyes closed.

Confused, desire sparked by his mouth, her hand groped in the water for his cock. Just as she found it, soft and asleep, his fingers closed on her wrist and moved her hand to his waist.

“I thought you wanted –”

“Shh... Lemme taste ya.”

She opened her mouth to answer, but he claimed it again, his tongue moving, coaxing hers. After a few moments, he stopped and leaned back just enough to catch and hold her wide-eyed stare.

“Not gonna gut ya, Tabitha. Ya obeyed me while I was gone, recovered from a brief ‘bout o’ stark mad, an’ then held still so I could fuck my brains out on ya. Roll ‘em all together an’ ya gotta content cat, ready fer ‘is nap. Since ya won’t shut up, I’m givin’ ya somethin’ else t’ do with that mouth.”

“You’re … being weirdly … spooky nice. It’s a little freaky.”

His fingers left her curls. “Tellin’ me ya’d feel more comfortable if I smacked ya ‘round awhile instead? What tha hell’re ya afraid o’ now?”

“You.”

“Don’t fly – ya were baitin’ me somethin’ fierce a bit ago; gotta set o’ brass ones all o’ a sudden, too.”

“I don’t trust you.”

“Said before, I ain’t askin’ ya t’ trust me.”

“You said not to touch you like I’m making love; that’s exactly what you’re doing.”

“Didn’t I mention I was a ‘do what I say, not what I do’ sorta guy? ‘Sides, I ain’t makin’ love t’ ya, or fuckin’; ya had enough experience with it by now t’ know tha diff’rence, huh? When tha dick ain’t nowhere near tha pussy – I ain’t fuckin’ ya.”

“So … you want to make out like teenagers and I’m not supposed to be suspicious of ulterior motives?”

“Darlin’, yer so exhausted right now, yer startin’ t’ talk crazy. Did ya sleep a wink while I was gone, or stay up tha whole damn night tryin’ t’ hunt fer a safe? Then ya go traipsin’ down my memory lanes, get all mixed up an’ wound tight – just t’ wake up later all hot an’ horny t’ bone me. Do ya hear all that? Sound a bit odd t’ ya?”

“I don’t want to die, Victor.”

“Yeah, well, last I heard, a kiss ain’t never killed anybody. Got somethin’ else ya’d rather I worked over with my tongue?”

“All I can think about is how you hurt Psylocke, and so many others … for over a hundred years. Why am I any different? I’m not.”

His smile, slow and amused, but not mocking, confused her more. He bent to nuzzle her neck again. Beneath the water, his strong fingers found her pussy, two of them slipping inside as the pad of the thumb rubbed at the tiny nub.

She gasped; one hand against his chest, the other darted down with a splash to pull at his wrist.

“Don’t, please...”

Meeting her gaze again, he stopped. “Ya remind me o’ ‘er, a li’l. Bold as brass, not enough sense t’ be afraid o’ me.”

“You terrify me, Victor, and you can’t trick me into asking about that. You’re up to something, I know it; I won’t let you play me again. I’d rather let you kill me.”

Creed was silent for a moment as if lost in his thoughts. His chin lifted, his eyes staring off at the ceiling. “Did ya ever watch birds in tha fall, gatherin’ t’ fly south?”

“N-no. What are you –”

“They gather from all over, swarm together an’ break away, dart back an’ forth – just t’ gather up again … ‘til they break an’ start it all from scratch.”

“I don’t understand.”

He met her gaze again, his expression still distant. “That’s me, darlin’, that’s what it feels like in here.” One of his fingers tapped at his temple. “When I get tha chance t’ breathe, t’ slow down enough t’ make it stop fer a while, it’s like havin’ that mindless peace again; ‘cept that it never lasts. Sometimes I hate Chuck Xavier more than I could ever rip ‘im bad enough t’ express – fer puttin’ tha memory o’ that fuckin’ lie in my head.”

“He didn’t tamper with your memories; he was trying to cure you.”

“No head-shrinkin’ witch doctor’s gonna ever ‘cure’ me, girl. What he did – I’m afraid I’ll never be able t’ carve it outta my head an’ I can’t grab a bit o’ real peace ‘til I do. So...” He huffed out a breath, frowning down at her. “Any scrap o’ lazy quiet I can lay hands on, all needs met, is kinda important t’ me. Got it?”

“Tell me you won’t kill me, Victor. Swear it.”

“Ya wouldn’t believe me if I did, an’ I don’t recommend it anyhow. Ain’t gonna make no promises.”

“You know, if you want to reel me in and trick me, that level of honesty isn’t going to help you reach your goal.”

“Too bad fer me. Ain’t it possible I’m just plain bein’ fuckin’ honest, here?” He picked her up and set her on her feet at the bottom of the pool as he rose. The water barely covered her breasts. Ears pinning, he stared down at her. “Come on.”

“Where are we going?”

“T’ bed; I need a bloody nap an’ ya need one worse.”

“Are you angry?”

“What, can’t ya tell by how irked or lazy I fuckin’ sound?” He was sitting on the edge of the pool, about to step over it.

Tabitha moved fast enough to splash water over his thigh onto the floor. Grasping his wrist, she tugged to pull him back into the water.

One eyebrow arching, he allowed her to move him. Again, when her fingers reached up to press on his shoulders, he sank to sit on another of the underwater benches. He faced her, silent and still, as she stood with her hands on her hips.

“I have some honesty for you: I hate you, but I love the way you get me off. You can beat me into paste, but I’ll never stop thinking you’re capable of changing.” She lifted a finger to his lips to stop a protest and managed to smile when he nipped at it teasingly, his scowl morphing slowly into a lop-sided smirk. “One more thing: I’m going to shock you more than you can ever surprise me. I’m going to survive this, no matter what you do.”

His smirk leveled out, stretched into a toothy grin. “Bet I can shock ya worse, darlin’.”

“Give it your best shot.”

He reached out to catch her around her ribs, his thumbs pressing into her erect and aching nipples as he pulled her to him. Pinning her between his muscled legs, he framed her face with both hands, making her stare up at him.

“Aw, no – ya ain’t gettin’ me t’ tip my hand; all in good time, Tabitha.”

He leaned in and gave her another deep and passionate kiss, melting her morals in his heat. He broke it abruptly, smiling at the little whine of displeasure she made.

“Now you want to stop?”

“Come on, darlin’ – gotta bed with yer name on it.” He picked her up and set her on the steps. “After I fuck ya blind, we’re gonna have that nap, if I hafta duct tape yer mouth t’ achieve it proper.”

Tabitha gave him a smirk of her own as she watched him get out of the pool like a prepped and ready porn star, water splashing the floor around him. “Fuck me mute, then.”

“No point – ya gotta gag reflex from hell.”

~ ~ ~

Hours later, Tabitha lay in Creed’s bed, the massive heat of him pressed to her back. She stopped her whirling and spinning thoughts by imagining that they were birds … gathering only to fly away.

In his sleep, he draped an arm over her waist and pulled her closer. Confused, empty and lost, she drifted to sleep just to escape the fear of the gamble she was taking in a mad attempt to tame the savage beast.

~ ~ ~

“Can’t hardly keep up with yer moods, doll.”

“So says the ‘King of Mean’. Who did you murder to get this stuff?”

Tabitha sat on his bed next to the pair of opened suitcases as Creed paced behind her. He had grudgingly let her dress in his shirt and lounge pants again.

“What makes ya think that?”

“Common sense; plus, my diamond was bloody.”

“Considerin’ how most o’ yer clothes got ripped t’ bits already, leavin’ ya with no choice but t’ start wearin’ mine, why don’t ya just say, ‘thanks, Vic’ an’ shut up ‘bout it?”

“Never mind that you’re the one who ripped them up.” Raising her eyebrows, she repeated, “Vic?”

“Couple o’ folks call me that. What ‘bout it?”

“So it’s a nickname … like Heini?”

“Ya know, frail, normally I’m fond o’ a good verbal sparrin’, but if ya don’t drop that shit, I’m gonna belt ya one across those pretty lips.”

Tabitha sighed and poked at the clothes. Most of it was as high end as his suits, with a pair of Prada heels sticking out near one end. She knew it would all fit her and the idea that he might have killed some poor girl just because she was her size made her want to go barf again.

“What attracted you, anyway, or did he order you into bed? I can’t imagine you obeying a scrawny nerd like that, no matter how powerful he was politically. Or was the megalomania hot?”

“Maybe it was – been there, done that … couple o’ times.”

“Who?”

Creed stalked up behind her, the heat of his body nearly an overwhelming distraction. “Why do ya care?”

“I’m curious and I haven’t got a lot left to lose.”

“Sure ‘bout that?” His claws pricked at her throat.

Tabitha went stiff and still, struggling not to swallow in fear, but she held her ground. “You’ll kill me eventually; who was it?”

One of his hands lowered, the fingers pinching her nipple cruelly through the t-shirt. She gasped in pain as he bent down, his lips at her ear. “Used t’ get int’ some wild romps with Sinister back in tha day, when I was hangin’ with tha Marauders.”

“Wow. I’d have bet that guy wasn’t into sex, period.”

“He ain’t, not really – damn near asexual – but he finds me fascinatin’ an’ he knows ya catch more cats with honey over vinegar.”

“Fond memories?”

“Nope.”

“Huh. He’s sort of a badass, though, and he was your boss then – were you the ‘nelly bottom’?”

“Best be strokin’ my cock if yer gonna gimme lip like that, girl.”

“Come on, you love to brag – were you?”

Creed grunted, his breath moving her curls. “Yup.”

“Wow, squared.”

“Didn’t think I’d admit it? Ain’t nothin’ gonna embarrass me – might piss me off, though.”

“I can hear you purring, ‘Vic’. Was he the only one?”

“My only top or my sole megalomaniac?”

“We’ve sorted out that you’ve had more than one of those.”

“No, he ain’t been tha only one; hellfire, girl, I let Perrin crawl up my back – it ain’t no big fuckin’ deal.” Hot breath tickling her ear, he added, “I’m a slut, Tabitha – ‘nother thing we got in common.”

She turned her head and kissed him, barely mindful of his teeth. He actually hesitated, as if she’d managed to surprise him, but then the growl erupted – one of the hungry ones.

He picked her up bodily, one hand slamming the suitcase shut before he dropped her over it. Hauling his pants down from her ass, his knees landed on the bed, his weight almost taking her off of the luggage when the mattress slanted. He hadn’t bothered to dress and she was abruptly grateful for the odd conversation making her embarrassingly wet when he stuffed her full again from behind.

Tabitha fought to breathe as she was shoved down and pressed against the hard frame of the suitcase, her fingers gripping its edge. Pleasure bloomed, intense enough to make her dizzy as he thrust, hard, fast, and shallow.

A scraping sound distracted her and she glanced down to see the large diamond moving and rolling on the face of the suitcase as her body was bucked over and over. Biting her lower lip, she swallowed hard and shut her eyes.

~ ~ ~

She stood in front of a mirror near the exercise equipment, listening as Creed moved behind her in the former double parlor, eliciting low moans out of his prisoner. The jeans and Jazz Funeral t-shirt fit her perfectly. So did the Prada boots, but Tabitha was staring at the bruises, cuts, and shallow bite punctures on her body, not the stolen clothes.

_‘Tooth calls them marks and he likes seeing them on me. I’m going to carry some of them as scars – maybe for the rest of my life._

She’d been shocked at first that Vaughn was still alive. Then she’d felt guilty for having forgotten all about him. Finally, after he’d spit at her, she decided not to bother feeling for him at all. Directly after that, Creed told her over a late lunch that she was going to protect him – as part of her next round of lessons. What he meant was, if she didn’t, the man would die – right then, right in front of her.

_Odds are, he figured out I lost my give-a-crap, so he’s found a way to make me care again. He’s right, too – I can’t let the man die, no matter how I feel about the battered wretch._

“Quit admirin’ yer pretty, Tab, an’ get yer shapely ass over here.”

“Sure, Vic.” With a sigh, she turned away from the girl in the mirror, a person she barely recognized anymore.

 *****************************************************************

Her scent continued to drive him to distraction and fighting lessons weren’t likely to slow it down. She was different in a lot of ways since he’d come home, but he thought he’d figured most of it out. That didn’t explain the changes in him, though.

 _Ignore it; they ain’t nothin’ alike past tha bouncin’ blonde curls an’ big baby blues. Pay attention now, so ya don’t get carried away an’ snuff tha bitch – ahead o’ schedule, anyway. Got no damn business moonin’ ‘bout long term options any road; once Chuck’s had ‘is claws in ‘em, they ain’t never right in tha head again._ Watching her approach, he frowned. _What a fuckin’ waste._

Victor grabbed her shoulders when she reached him and pulled her back into his chest just to see if the abrupt snatch would spark her fear. To his surprise, she leaned against him, even pressing her smooth and firm ass against his cock, nudging it awake. The touch played at being accidental, casual – but he didn’t believe that for a second.

“Yer a head-shrink’s wet dream, darlin’, ya know that?”

“Another thing we have in common?” she asked, her teasing tone devoid of the old nervous flutter.

She was settling into sassing him and she kept getting away with it as long as her body kept luring his, alchemizing anger into lust over and over again. Part of the time, she seemed unaware of what she was doing … but only part of it.

“Listen now, rub me off later,” he admonished. “Keep forgettin’ who’s tha fuckin’ boss, here, don’t ya?”

She didn’t move. “Why haven’t you ever wanted to be the boss, instead of working for others? It’s a bit odd how often you’ve let someone else call the shots.”

“Bein’ a freelance assassin offers a man real freedom – most bigwigs I’ve known ain’t happy folks.”

“You’re a happy person? You don’t head any lists of well-adjusted people that I’ve ever seen.”

“Ain’t hardly ‘adjusted’ at all – but I’m one free an’ happy motherfucker just tha same.” Victor shoved her forward away from him, but without the gusto he might have used before. “Here’s yer hapless charge.” He smirked as the damaged Vaughn tried to shift away from the shallow dig of adamantium claws on one bare foot. To Rothenberg’s former soldier, he added, “Mind yer Ps an’ Qs, asshole; yer gonna play damsel in distress fer tha lady, but if ya get any ideas ‘bout jackin’ with ‘er, yer gonna be in distress fer real.”

“So, how are we going to do this?”

“I’m gonna try t’ kill ‘im – yer gonna try t’ stop me.”

The skirt laughed outright, prickling his anger. “Say goodbye, dude,” she advised Vaughn. “We’re both about to be toast.”

“Thought ya were ballsy, girl. Am I gonna hafta start callin’ ya ‘Boom Boom’ in tha field, or were ya plannin’ on livin’ up t’ tha moniker ‘Meltdown’?”

“I’m not supposed to burn you, so how am I going to stop you?”

Victor grinned. “Didn’t I tell ya we’re usin’ live rounds fer this lesson? Pop me if ya can catch me.”

Hands on hips, she frowned at him. “Yeah, you left that part out. I’m not sure I buy it, though. You’re not going to whack me later for breaking a rule you told me to break?”

“Wouldn’t make much sense, huh? No, I won’t. Gonna buy that?”

“Taking the word of a moody psychopath probably proves I’ve gone around the bend.”

“Probly. Ya ready now, or should we just let our proverbial hockey puck sit there an’ bleed a bit more first?”

“I’m as ready as I’ll ever be.”

“Keep all o’ my good advice in yer pretty li’l head, an’ yer gonna do fine.” When she turned to look at Vaughn, Victor slipped away into the shadows of the long room, disappearing almost as fast as his teleporting banker.

“Victor? Crap.”

In the dark, he moved farther away from the skirt. Crouching down in his worn jeans, he watched her.

She had stuck close to the long hearth, as if light to see by would help her. The chandelier was dim, giving off an eerie glow but no real illumination. Heavy drapes covered all of the tall, narrow windows.

“Sit up,” she commanded the man, her voice deceptively harsh. “Get ready to move – if you can.”

“What reason do you have to protect me?”

“Not a damn one, dude – besides the fact that I’m one of the good guys. Saving people, even mutant-hating scum like you, is what we do.”

“You think you’re still one of those ‘heroes’ – after turning yourself into Creed’s whore?”

Her face twisting in anger, she turned her boot and pressed the toe against his fractured ribs. The smirk on her lips at the sound of his pained cry made a purr start up in Victor’s throat.

“Not in the best shape, are you? Might be better if you didn’t tick off the only person here who gives a crap if you live or die.”

“He won’t let me live; if you save me, he’ll just take me back to that table. I’d rather die on my feet.”

“Bully for you – if you can get there.”

“Give me your hand.”

She glared down at him, but then she held out her hand. The muscles of her slender arm bunched impressively as she helped haul the heavy male to his feet. “Without your guns and flamethrowers, you’re about as challenging to Creed as a puppy – stay behind me and get ready to scoot in the opposite direction when he jumps us.”

Victor moved again until the male was between him and the skirt. Her back was to him, but she was starting to turn.

Without a sound, he jumped twenty feet to land directly in front of his prey. Claws flashing, he snarled and began to slash. Tabitha whirled and shot a spray of fiery slivers into his chest.

Roaring, he ignored the pain and stench of burning fur and skin to advance on the man.

She grabbed the prey’s bruised wrist and pulled him back behind her, standing her ground mere feet from Victor’s teeth. Hands raised, the air charged with her gathering power, she waited.

“Think I won’t go through ya t’ get t’ ‘im, girl?”

“I know you will; I also know it’s stupid to run from you – it just weakens us and hypes you up.”

“Shit, ya are payin’ attention.” He swiped at her, one claw slicing a clean cut into her t-shirt.

She flinched, but didn’t retreat. “He likes to play with his food,” she told the prey. “We have to stand and fight.”

“You do that,” Vaughn muttered, his hands lifting.

Victor growled. Before the man could strike her with fists, Victor reached out and grabbed her shirt in a wad; twisting it, he pulled her forward into him.

She hit him with a trio of small fireballs at once in his gut the instant he moved. The smell of burning filled his flaring nostrils again. The pain was sharp, but as easy to ignore as the first strike. Snarling, he let it burn, stretching his other hand out and catching Vaughn by the throat.

“Don’t kill him, Victor! I won’t have anyone to practice defending if he’s dead!”

Claws cutting into the man’s flesh, Victor hissed. “Told ya not t’ mess with ‘er, asshole.”

“Mess with – he was going to whack me?”

“Yup. Imagine that.”

Her little hands pressed into his healed abdomen as she looked up to meet his narrowed gaze. “Turn him loose, Victor.”

Curious, he released him, grinning when the skirt turned and punched Vaughn solidly on the jaw, knocking him into a sprawl on the polished wooden floor.

“I’m trying to save you, you demented ape!”

“You’re trying to prolong my torture, mutie bitch – fuck you.”

Her fury was glorious, bombs forming and swelling over her palms in an instant. Victor moved close behind her, bending to whisper in her ear. “Yer ‘bout t’ react on emotion again, Tab … suck those babies back in an’ turn ‘round – gotta bigger threat behind ya.”

One of the bombs faded back into her, the other constricting to the size of her palm. Victor straightened, stepped back, and she twisted around to attack him. The bomb exploded in the air where he’d been standing.

Crouching over Vaughn, Victor snarled at her. His fingers were moving, the claws piercing clothes and skin like the kneading motion of a cat.

“Get the hell off of him, damn it!”

“Make me, frail.”

She glared at him, another bomb growing over her hand. “I’m not going to let you kill the bastard – whether he deserves it or not.”

“Might wanna change yer tactics, then; I can dodge that easy – then yer one step closer t’ drained.”

The skirt hesitated, her face half in shadow and half lit by the glow of her floating weapon. When the plasma bomb split, bursting into the splinters of fire, Victor laughed with delight. They moved around her head, spinning and darting like pet sparks.

“That’s it,” he encouraged her. “Avoid tha big ones when yer too upset t’ aim ‘em right. Ya wanna knock me off this meat an’ yer brain’s lyin’ t’ ya, tellin’ ya ‘bigger is better’. Two things ya need t’ feel right now, Tabitha: mad or not, stay chilly, an’ know – deep in yer gut – that ya can take me out.”

Her anger held for a few shallow breaths, and then her shoulders slumped, her eyes sliding away from his stare. “I can’t, I’m not powerful enough; I never will be.”

“Rattled my brains at Xavier’s, didn’t ya?”

“All I did was break your restraints.”

“Got any idea how impossible that shoulda been? My money says those chumps were fair shocked that ya managed it.” She shook her head, rejecting it. A growl erupted, his lips peeling back from his teeth. “This filth ain’t got time fer ya t’ balk. Gonna save ‘is stinkin’ life or not?”

“I won’t be fighting you in Vancouver.”

“Ain’t ‘sposed t’ be fightin’ shit – it’s destruction o’ property, not people.”

“That’s not the point; if you were anyone else, what you’re getting me to do – it would kill someone.” She stiffened, standing a little taller with defiant pride. “I’m not a killer and I don’t want to learn how to be one.”

“All that posturin’ is gonna strain yer back, girl. I only know how t’ teach one thing – how t’ be a more efficient killer. Trackin’, tha spy game, all o’ that – it all ties int’ killin’. If ya wanna set yer bombs on ‘stun’, that’s yer own business.” He watched the whirl of thoughts play out across her face. “Come on, Tabitha, push Cueball’s brainwashin’ outta yer head; ya know I can make ya a better fighter. Now ya wanna learn this shit or not? Cuz if ya don’t, I ain’t got no more use fer this motherfucker.”

Watching his claws cut the man again, she winced and said quietly, “Yes.”

“Prove it – fire those things at me; do it right tha hell now.” Again, she hesitated. Leering at her, he taunted, “Bet ya’d burn me if this lump was yer precious Psylocke. My claws went through that bitch’s scrawny middle like butter – didn’t even have tha adamantium yet.”

“You’re trying to make me angry. That’s exactly what you said I shouldn’t do – attack in anger.”

“Ya should attack t’ save this puke; thing is, focus, concentrate – make yer hits count.” Victor bent down low over the trembling body under him. Sniffing the man’s throat, he made a rude and hungry noise. His eyes lifted slowly to stare up at the skirt. “Somethin’ I never told ya, frail – when I sliced Psylocke’s guts open, smelled ‘er terror an’ watched that slippery mess start t’ fall t’ tha floor … no lie, I fuckin’ came in my shorts.”

With a cry of rage, she focused her power and sent the fiery bullets right into his face and chest. One of them blew out his left eye, the others cutting in before they began to catch and burn.

Instinct launched him at her, his roar inches from her face as his weight flattened her to the floor. Claws scored the wood on either side of her head, curling it up in thin shavings.

She shut her eyes tight, her forehead and cheeks sprayed with blood from the exploded eye until it healed. Smoke rose from his chest before those wounds closed. His sight returned to the injured eye as his claws pierced her shirt, his fingers tearing it open. One claw cut the thin material that held the bra cups closed, and then his tongue flattened and licked a wide wet trail hard over her breasts, the tiny barbs of it rasping harshly over sensitive nipples.

He knew it hurt and for a red-haze moment, he wanted to hurt her more. Drawing in a deep breath full of her enriched scent, he shook his head and forced his fractured brain to return to the lesson at hand.

Behind him, the prey had moved. Instead of running, he crept up on them. He held something metal in one hand, something heavy.

A wicked smile stretched Victor's lips as he spoke; his voice was low and rough as rage and lust fought for dominance within it.

“If I weren’t me, ya said – that mighta killed a lesser man.” He shifted, lifting his weight off of her. Backing down until he could press his lips to her belly, he turned his head to nuzzle the soft skin, rubbing his sideburns over it.

“Victor,” she whispered, “I’m sorry – don’t...”

The blast of her fear in the close air between them told him that she thought he was about to bite or slash the tender shivering flesh of her exposed abdomen. She was oblivious to the real threat over his shoulder. He continued speaking, teaching, enjoying the confusion and terror that gathered in her tearful eyes.

“Not killin’ just hampers tha shit outta yer peers an’ yer betters on a global scale. That’s why tha runt’s tha only one o’ ‘em worth a damn t’ fight – only one with tha stones t’ go all tha way int’ tha red an’ straight through t’ tha big black.”

 Victor heard the breath whistle in the man’s lungs, his heart slamming against his ribs. With a grunt, he brought the metal down at the back of Victor’s skull.

Rising and twisting his upper body, Victor grabbed and snapped the wrist that held the five pound barbell. Yanking the broken wrist as the barbell crashed to the floor, he jerked the man down across the skirt’s middle and dropped his jaw.

“Victor, no! Please stop!”

Glaring at her with ears pinned, he snarled. Levering his jaw up to speak, he ground out, “Meat’s still tryin’ t’ kill us an’ ya don’t wanna see ‘im dead?”

“No, I don’t. Please … spare him for me.”

Hissing, Victor fisted his hand in the man’s clothing and threw him away from them. His claws retracted when he turned back to her, his fingers slowly opening her belt and jeans. “Deny me my kill, gotta give somethin’ else.”

“Why not?” she asked, her words bitter. “I’m your whore, aren’t I?”

“Damn fuckin’ straight, ya are.”

She cried out when he ripped the jeans down, the force of it lifting her body. His tongue shoved inside her and her back arched, a groan spilling from her lips. His fingers fumbled to open his jeans, the claws snapping out to shred hers so he could spread her legs wide and sink his aching cock deep.

Victor allowed her to wrap her legs around him before he pushed against the gouged floor, rolling them until he was on his back. She rose off of his chest, her little hands slapping down onto it. Sweat beaded her brow; she hadn’t been ready and he’d hurt her. Yet the desperation on her face proved she understood her danger.

“Fuck me, girl – suck tha mean out with yer li’l pussy!”

She began to move without hesitation. Heat glowed in her eyes in moments, but shame burned on her blood-spattered cheeks.

“I’m definitely going to Hell for this,” she muttered, and then winced when he arched, grinding up into her.

His face covered with his blood, the salt of it in his mouth, Victor smirked up at her. “Plenty o’ folks, if they saw where yer sittin’, would tell ya that yer already there, frail.”

~ ~ ~

She was still and silent, lying against him on the floor with her head pillowed on his stomach. She smelled like him, his cum still leaking from her body whenever she shifted.

Her fear had faded with his receding anger and the choice to touch him after he had finally rolled off of her had been hers alone.

“Keep wonderin’ when yer gonna try t’ damage me while I’m fucked stupid.”

“I choose life.”

He moved out from under her and slipped down her body. “Mmm... Yer makin’ me so hungry, girl.”

Her fingers plucked at his bare shoulders, weak and listless. “Victor, please … I’m raw after all that...”

Shooting a leering grin up at her, his fingers pried her legs open. “Not up t’ more just yet – wanna taste ya.”

“Taste yourself, you mean. Ugh.” One small hand rose to cover her eyes. “You don’t have any sense of shame or gross-out over the messy side, do you?”

“Not a lick,” he replied, and put his tongue to work cleaning her up.

“Most guys I’ve been with are squeamish about their own junk.”

“Fuckin’ infants,” he muttered, loving the shudder she gave him when the shafts of his fangs pressed against her tender slick flesh. “If I could figure out how t’ suck myself off, I’d never leave tha house again.”

“Ew?”

Chuckling, he quipped, “Even without that, I’m tha best I’ve ever had. We’ve established I’m tha best ya ever had, so shut it an’ lemme suck ya in peace.”

He was surprised when she did stop talking, although she wasn’t silent. In spite of how sore she was, he could still coax a shivering orgasm out of her limp body.

When it was over and he had the taste of both of them on his tongue, he rolled to his back and closed his eyes.

“Is the moron still breathing?”

“Unfortunately. He’s just passed out, darlin’.”

“Is the lesson over?”

“Fer now, yeah.”

She fell silent again, but he wasn’t fooled – it wouldn’t last.

“When we get back to it, how about a nice classroom session without the floor demonstration?”

“Ya missin’ Chuck’s hero school?”

“Hell, no.”

Victor laughed and sat up. She was spent, splayed, and finally too exhausted to be ashamed about it. “Don’t be shy, Tabitha; tell me how ya really feel.”

She struggled to rise. Grunting, Victor grabbed her and pulled her up to sit in his lap. Her clothes hung from her in strips. His jeans had survived, though they were almost rucked off of his hips.

Leaning against his chest, she sighed. “I’m a high school dropout and I left for a reason. Xavier’s school was better, but not by much – not for me.”

“Didn’t get much schoolin’ myself.”

“Self-made man, huh?”

“Among other things.”

“Teach me something else – one of your ‘lessons learned’.”

“Hmm … how ‘bout excess versus efficiency?”

“Sounds riveting.”

Grinning, he told her, “Hold still.”

Opening his teeth, he curled around her shoulder and dropped his jaw. She gasped when he took her face and most of her head into his mouth, hooking his fangs at the back of her cheekbones. After a tense moment, he backed off, closed his mouth and kissed her curls.

“That’s fun, but it’s often overkill; plus, it takes longer an’ leaves my back exposed t’ other attacks.”

“How can you open your mouth like that?”

Victor shrugged. “My jaw’s diff’rent.”

“How?”

“Dunno – ain’t never seen tha works. Every time some asshole tears my face off, it heals before I can get t’ a mirror.”

Without missing a beat, Tabitha suggested, “Maybe you should carry a pocket-size compact.”

Victor howled with laughter. “Not a bad idea.”

“I can’t put someone’s head in my teeth, but okay. Assuming that’s excess, that means the claws are more efficient.”

Victor lifted his claws to her throat, letting the points prick her lightly. “Claws’re faster, freein’ me up t’ deal with other threats sooner. Ya figured that out yerself before, with Manis.”

“Never mind that you used your teeth on his men a lot.”

“I ain’t a student no more.”

“When were you? Did you go to ‘assassin school’?”

“Sorta, yeah. Fellow called tha Foreigner taught me a lotta shit; one o’ tha few men ever made me feel respect, tell ya that. Government goons ain’t nothin’ compared t’ ‘im.” Victor fell silent, his thoughts pushing through the murky past.

“Well, don’t clam up now – give me dirty secrets.”

“No.” With a grunt, he flopped down onto his back again, smiling at her squeak of surprise.

The skirt twisted to face him, his arms keeping her on top of him. Her slight weight was barely noticeable, lying warm and welcome over his sated and softening cock.

Her fingers lifted and timidly touched the sticky blood on the left side of his face. Flicking her gaze up to meet his stare, she paled.

“It was gone,” she whispered, “blown to goop.”

He gave her a toothy grin. “That ain’t just blood ya got yer fingers in, neither.”

Snatching her hand away, she glared at him. “Don’t make me sick, or I’ll barf on you in revenge.”

“Been doin’ an awful lotta that, did ya notice?”

“Yeah, well, you’re a revolting freak a lot, did you notice?”

“Here an’ there.” Enjoying her discomfort and guilt, he winked at her with the eye she’d destroyed. “Told ya t’ do it, what’s tha point o’ feelin’ bad ‘bout it? Ya hate me, remember?”

“I do – but I wish I didn’t have to.”

“Spare me tha cape speeches, huh? What’s with females, anyhow? Ya get laid good, get a few o’ yer fuses blown out, an’ all o’ sudden it’s gotta be love?”

“I didn’t say that, and if you think the events of the last forty-eight hours involve me falling for you, then you really are crazy.”

“My crazy ain’t never been in doubt; don’t change tha fact that ya go all smarmy now an’ then – ‘specially right after I knock yer hungry li’l pussy int’ next week.”

The skirt dared to stare back at him for a long moment in silence. He sniffed the air, surprised to catch fear as it began to saturate her scent. He started to speak, to reassure her, but then her next words sparked his anger, hot and fast.

“Did she tell you she loved you, Victor? Is that why you keep her hair in that crystal box?”

He almost reached up and broke her neck, but something in her eyes stopped him. She wasn’t defiant, challenging, or simply seeking death as Vaughn had been. He wanted to shout at her, bruise her – even as the shock of the pain the question caused rendered him unable to speak.

In his rabid silence, her fingers stroked his bloody cheek again, her face full of sorrow. If it had been pity, he would have risen up and bitten out her throat.

“Look, I know I don’t know anything about it, but I can see how lonely you are, because I’m just as lonely. Sometimes, though, I wonder if you’re trying to have me take her place. You know it wouldn’t work – you’ll never feel the same way about me and there are things I could never look past that you’ve done. I’m sorry, Victor; I swore not to talk about it or tell anyone and I won’t, but ... I really think you need someone to talk to about her. I just wanted to say … I wish you still had her, that’s all. Maybe if you did, she could help you … to change...”

Clenching his teeth, he let the rage wash over him as an idea bloomed in the flotsam of his mind, nudging the murderous urge back down. Swallowing a growl and narrowing his eyes at her, he tried to ignore the sharp stab in his chest as he had the other injuries she’d done him.

“She never got tha chance,” he muttered, forcing each word. “Every look, every breath – told me just tha same. She … wanted t’ be with me.”

Her eyes widened slightly, the tears beginning to spill. Her fingers stilled on his face. “How did she die, Victor?”

Closing his eyes tight, the growl slipped free. “I broke ‘er neck – had t’ do it. What they did … it woulda killed ‘er, killed half tha damn continent!”

“What did they do to her?”

The quiet urging was strangely familiar, but he couldn’t catch the wisp of thought as barely healed wounds were torn open. Floundering, he strove to focus on baiting the line that might drag her down at last.

“Bioweapon, a homemade fuckin’ plague – they infected ‘er with it by mistake an’ then they had t’ hunt ‘er down t’ stop it before it activated. Didn’t know that ‘til later. I walked int’ tha middle o’ their shit an’ they tried t’ plug me; fuckers were hard t’ kill – fer me! They were maybe tha weirdest things I ever smelled in my damn life, too. I was curious, so I stole ‘er from ‘em.”

“You didn’t abuse her; you couldn’t have, or she would’ve hated you.”

“She...” Abruptly, he began to laugh, his voice cracked and shaking. “Believe it or not – she fuckin’ seduced me. Didn’t take much. Saw what I could do, what I was – an’ it excited ‘er. She was so hungry an’ wanted me so bad – never felt anythin’ like it, my whole messed up life.”

“Then you found out about the infection? How long were you with –?”

“One damn night – that’s it. She was just a girl, a flatscan; only left fuckin’ Mayberry, USA three months before an’ ended up dead fer nothin’. One damn night … an’ it was over...”

“Oh, Victor ... I’m so sorry.”

His guts writhed before the burn of his healing factor wiped the nausea away. Yet it couldn’t heal the twisting clench in his chest or untangle the threads of sanity before they knotted. Beneath it all, the rage roiled, demanding her blood. His eyes opened to slits, the murderous glow flaring.

“Frail – if ya wanna keep breathin’ – get gone; go up t’ yer room an’ stay there.”

“But I –”

“Now!” Victor grabbed her arms and threw her from him, barely able to control his claws. “Stay there, frail – or I swear I’ll stretch yer guts all over tha fuckin’ floor!”

She hit hard, crying out. Scrambling to her feet, she fled from the room, leaving behind the scent of her terror and tears.

“So the dirty mutie bastard can feel pain?” a voice spoke, low and mocking.

Snarling, Victor turned to face Vaughn. Rising slowly, his fingers curled until the claws began to stab into his palms. He didn’t bother to collect himself or fasten his jeans. “Ya stink o’ death wish an’ ya think I’ll give ya what ya want.”

“Do it – you disgusting animal.”

“Gotta better idea.”

Victor advanced, grinning when the man shrank back. He jumped down, landing on one knee with his hand fisted in the man’s hair. Forcing his mouth open, the claws reached in. One slice and the tongue was sheared off at its root. Darting his head forward, Victor licked the spill of blood that rushed over the man’s chin.

Gripping his hair harder, making him watch, he sucked the severed flesh into his mouth and swallowed it.

No longer able to scream, the man made a terrible gurgling moan, his hands weakly shoving at Victor’s chest.

“A mind-witch once told me that folks expectin’ me t’ be a mindless beast over an’ over at first sight helped shape tha man I am t’day – funny old world, ain’t it? Thing is, I hate bein’ called an animal, cuz they always say it like I’m garbage; most that do it get dead real fast, too. Ya’d like that ‘bout now, huh? Well guess what, asswipe? I ain’t gonna let ya die – not fer a long time yet. Yer gonna take on tha skirt’s punishment … cuz she’s got uses ya lack.” Chuckling, he added, “Shame I can’t make ‘er watch – not now, with tha game afoot at last.”

Yanking his hair, Victor turned the man’s face this way and that, smirking when he coughed, splashing more blood from his mouth.

“Ya know, torture’s a hoot – but one thing I’ve discovered is, it can’t hold a bloody candle t’ tha act o’ rape.”

The face paled, his eyes widening. The moans came again, but his horror only made Victor laugh.

“Bet ya already know that – hell, yer co-workers did; they were linin’ up t’ do tha same t’ my piece when I started t’ tear ‘em up. Not one o’ ‘em cared how she felt ‘bout it. Think yer gonna get any better from me?”

Shoving him onto his back, Victor went to work, careful not to destroy the man’s clothing.

“Gotta gullible skirt t’ trick, ya see – can’t let ‘er think I took my mad out on ya, can I? Reelin’ ‘er in just cost me more’n I wanted t’ pay, though, so I’m gonna take it out on ya – where tha sun don’t shine an’ tha marks don’t show.”

One ankle was broken as he fought the man’s pants off. Claws wrapping around the pathetic dick stopped the rest of the fight.

“Coulda flipped ya on yer belly, but I’d rather see yer eyes. Ya ready? I sure as shit am.”

Victor pushed his free hand under the man’s ass, heedless of cutting claws. He jerked the hips forward, lined up and shoved. Ripping muscle told him it was a first for one of them. The sensation of the tight grip easing in an instant slick of blood gave him a rush that nearly stole his breath.

Tongue lolling out to lick up the saliva that was dripping down his chin, Victor chuckled. “Bit o’ advice … try t’ keep as still as ya can – might not tear ya up too bad if yer still.”

Blazing in the heat of his rage, his lust had been sharp and ready before the man had even spoken. The fire of it, as he used cruel violence to assuage his pain, burned away the terrible ache within – thrust by thrust.

Yet even as he sought release, he growled low, feeling the old insidious blackness inside writhe and seeth, as if demanding to be filled. As his senses blurred, his jaw dropping down, he let his claws dig deep.

~ ~ ~

Heat pounded in his temples, but he didn’t feel nauseous; as he realized that the healing factor wasn’t wiping the headache away, he shuddered. He was lying on his back as the reek of death flooded his senses: blood, bile, and worse.

Greatly daring, strong hands touched his shoulder, his cheek. He twitched – he hadn’t known anyone was there. “Mr. Creed? Victor? Are you … all right?”

 _Not tha skirt – Perrin._  “What tha fuck did I do, boy?”

“Vaughn is in … a few … pieces.”

“Tha skirt?”

“She’s in her room; Brys is with her. She isn’t hurt, but she’s not making much sense; we didn’t know … what happened.” He sat beside him, heedless of the mess. “We should get you cleaned up.”

“Don’t wanna fuckin’ move just yet. Not … sure I can…”

Fingers touched Victor’s sweat-damp hair, brushing it out of his face. “Can I do anything? Get you … something? Just tell me what you need.”

“Headache won’t quit, but don’t feel sick – not good. Maybe I don’t wanna know why… Not one bit afraid o’ me, are ya?”

“I respect what you’re capable of, but I trust that you have a use for me and that makes me safe.”

“I ain’t … gotta clue what I did, what happened. Took out ‘is tongue, I know that; started t’ split ‘im like a bitch – then it all goes red. Wasn’t tha plan at all. I’m a fuckin’ crackpot – an’ that means ya ain’t ‘safe’. If I blank out again, get tha fuck out – need ya in one piece.”

Victor’s eyes snapped open when he sensed Perrin leaning in close. His kiss, chaste and oddly soothing, settled on his brow.

“I need you in one piece, Victor. From what little that silly girl said that we could grasp at all, you were baited – I would never be so foolish.”

His claws dripped with blood as he lifted his hand, but the boy didn’t flinch when Victor touched his face. “I can smell what ya want, even here an’ now.”

“Victor, wait –”

Releasing him, Victor used the hand to push off and rolled, only discovering when he lay on his face that he couldn’t feel the floor beneath him. Thoughts and emotions in a cat’s cradle knot, he hid his face in blood-smeared hair, his cheekbone lying in a pool of red. He couldn’t sense or feel the buzz of healing and far too much of his body was numb. Scenting the air again, he knew he was surrounded by his own spilled blood, and far too much of the smell of adamantium.

Fear rose. He could barely move and the healing was too slow – his body was damaged … vulnerable. Instinct made a growl rise to ward off enemies, but he knew he couldn’t defend himself.

Close and warm, the boy pressed against his side, but only a few of the ribs could feel him there. Pain was fleeting, random – too many nerves were gone. Fingers moved his hair gently, soft lips pressing to the hot muscles of his back. The sensation made him gasp, his eyes blurring with wet.

“I do want you, mon beau chat, I always do, but … we shouldn’t, Victor; you’re hurt. Perhaps we could just let you rest? We can go to the kitchen, or to my chambers. Ah, mon trésor – so wounded. Let me look after you...”

Clinging to the soothing voice, Victor tried to grasp the edges of his sanity. The black void in his soul surged again, clouding his mind. It eternally waited – cold and infernally patient, to receive him. Growling again, he tried to move, but his body wouldn’t respond. He could move the hand, and his fingers brushed over the boy’s sex. They cupped it, felt it begin to swell.

Desolate and lost, he fell still, the arm falling at his side. He was offering his body just to be able to feel – anything. He couldn’t speak – if he did, the words might be tainted, weak. Yet the longer he lay still, feeling nothing, the deeper the twisting psychic pain sliced into his spirit – threatening to break him. He drew in a shaking breath to stave it off and held it until his body began to tremble.

All at once, the smooth, strong hands touched him. A warm mouth opened on the nape of his neck, small blunt teeth grasping, bruising. A breath later, soft lips soothed the marked skin.

Gasping out as the gentle weight came down over his back, Victor sucked in a greedy breath and forced it out, and then again.

“Victor … stay with me – just breathe, and stay...”

A groan was torn from bloody lips when the first push of stabbing pain struck him, invading his flesh. The mating sparked a low growl, his body striving to tense, but then he drew in another deep breath and fell still once more, submissive and craving. The wet spilled down his face to shame him.

“You’re safe, mon blessé amour, I won’t let anything harm you. This will pass, Victor … it will – I promise...”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope that wasn’t too brutal for some folks, but I really can’t promise that it won’t get worse down the road. Victor is a sociopath and a psychopath, and I greatly enjoy exploring that aspect of him. The French endearments: mon beau chat (my beautiful cat), mon trésor (my treasure), and mon blessé amour (my wounded love). Perrin is addicted to Victor and probably not the sanest boy alive; it also appears he’s allowed to speak French to Victor, stated rules to Tabitha to the contrary. I looked up the French online, and I’m fairly sure I’m correct, and that it is masculine. Feel free to let me know if I got any of it wrong. I only had one and a half years of French, around 400 years ago.
> 
> This chapter brought up events from World War II, including the Holocaust (specifically the massacre at Babi Yar in September of 1941). I’m including this because canon comics established that Victor spent some time in the 1940s working with/for the Nazis. I’m embellishing (or changing) how he was involved and with whom, but it is generally thought that he was a member of the Gestapo. I am a long-time student of WWII history and I have nothing but respect for the victims of the Holocaust, as well as for LGBTQ people, and I do not approve of anything the Nazis did. Victor has mixed feelings about the Nazis, but his opinions are not mine. Victor confesses that he had sex with a Nazi leader. Nazis persecuted and killed homosexuals, but some history books argue that a surprising number of the top Nazis may have had homosexual leanings in private. Victor is pansexual in my stories (though I’ve kept the slash to a minimum and mostly off-scene in this tale). (@MET_Fic) - AnonGrimm


	9. According to Plan

How are you feeling?  
Do you feel ok?  
Cause I don’t  
It keeps me reelin’  
Will I ever be the same?  
No I won’t

It’s a cold day in a cruel world  
I really wished I could have saved you  
then who would save me from myself?  
Right now, well, I could use a stiff drink  
to kill the pain that’s deep inside my bones

Have you been dreaming?  
I don’t dream at all  
I have nightmares  
Memories careenin’  
Have you come to kill what’s left  
of my smile  
Theres no vacancy in paradise

I really wished I could have saved you  
then who would have saved me from myself  
Right now, well, I could use a stiff drink  
to kill the pain that’s deep inside my bones  
I really wished I could have saved you  
then who would have saved me from myself

I really wished I could have saved you  
I’ll never forget you  
I’ll never forget you  
I’ll never forget you  
I really wished I could have saved you

~ Ballad for Dead Friends (Dashboard Prophets)

*****************************************************************

“Oh my God, what is he doing?” Tabitha tried to twist out of Brys’s hold, but he wouldn’t let her go. The wool blanket he’d wrapped her in had started to warm her, until the roaring and screaming downstairs chilled her blood all over again. She had thought that Vaughn was screaming, but then she recognized the voice as Creed’s.

Perrin stiffened where he stood in the doorway. “I should go and check on him.”

“Don’t, mon cher! Wait until it’s quiet; you can’t help him when he’s like that.” Turning back to her, Brys asked, “He told you not to discuss that woman, even to him; why did you do it?”

Listening to the horrid sounds below, she could barely think, let alone speak. “I … wanted to help him deal with it … the loss...”

“He’s dealing with it now,” Perrin retorted, glaring back at her.

Abruptly, the terrible caterwauling and destructive sounds ceased. The men stared at each other as the silence lengthened.

“I’m going,” Perrin announced.

“Wait –” Brys shook his head when his lover disappeared, closing the door behind him. “I’m sorry for your plight, Tabitha, I am – but if Mr. Creed kills him, I will harm you.”

In spite of his words and the tension in his voice, his arms stopped holding her so uncomfortably tight.

Exhausted and miserable, she wilted against his chest. “You won’t have to; Creed’s going to splatter me as soon as he scrapes enough of his brains together to remember that he wants to.”

~ ~ ~

Days of silence and fear had turned her numb as she waited in the small suite. Brys would only give her a sliver of news here and there; Perrin wouldn’t tell her anything. From what little she’d gathered, it had been a struggle to get Creed back upstairs to his own bed; he’d apparently spent the first two days in his servants’ bed at the other end of the rambling mansion.

“Brys said Creed ‘wasn’t well’ – the man has a healing factor, what the hell does ‘not well’ mean?”  _Not well mentally,_  she thought, and swallowed. She’d sent messages, but odds were they hadn’t made it to him.

With nothing else to do, she got into the suitcases Perrin had moved into her room and started hanging things up if they were really fancy, or tossing them in a laundry pile. All of the shoes had heels and everything had a hard-to-pronounce label somewhere.

Then she’d found the address tag stuck in a small inner pocket of one of the bags and all she could do was sit on the bed and stare at it. Tears wouldn’t come – she’d shed too many.

“Fiona Cavanagh. Who were you?” Crumpling the tag in her fist, she bowed her head. “I’m so sorry. So many things, if I’d done them differently … you’d still be alive, maybe.”

The door opened after Brys’s habitual soft knock. “Tabitha? He’s asking for you.”

“Oh, God, Brys – is he … angry?”

The older man studied her a moment, his expression unreadable. “He is … tired. I wouldn’t bring it up if I were you, however. Come along.”

In a small voice, she said, “I didn’t think he could get ‘tired’.”

“He hasn’t eaten. If the healing factor isn’t fed, especially after he’s taken damage, it can’t –”

“Damage? I didn’t hurt him – nothing that stuck, anyway. Did Vaughn…?”

“Don’t worry about Vaughn. Mr. Creed can hear us and you need to hurry.”

Wishing she could melt into the floor, she followed. “He’s dead, isn’t he – and it’s my fault.”

“He was a very stupid man and he paid for it. Quickly, now, while he’s still awake.”

Brys opened the double doors to the dim master suite. The fire was burning low, but no other light interrupted the gloom. A soft growl threatened them from the foot of the bed, but she recognized it as the snow leopard. Her long shape showed in silhouette before she slipped away to jump out of the open window.

“Mr. Creed? I’ve brought her.”

Perrin spoke from the bed, “He’s drifted off. Let her wait at the table.”

Tabitha sat in the chair Brys pulled out for her, her nerves tight as wire.

“Be still – and quiet,” he said, and returned to the doors. “Should I wait outside, do you think?” he called softly to his partner.

“In the kitchen; I’ll call on the intercom if he wants anything.”

“Be careful.”

“I will.”

 _No one is telling me to be careful. What if what he wants to eat is me?_  In the dark over the bed, she heard another growl: low and menacing. To her surprise, the unmistakable sound of lips on skin followed. Stunned, she thought,  _He’s in bed with Creed._

“Come here,” the slaughterhouse rasp ordered.

_He sounds so … drained._

“Tabitha?” Perrin called. “Mr. Creed is speaking to you.”

She almost apologized, and then bit her lower lip as her pulse jumped. Rising slowly, she came closer to the growl as it sounded again. His narrowed eyes appeared, tilted strangely, in the blackness close to the surface of the bed. Their glow was weak.

“I-I’m here.”

“Ain’t got long before we hafta go t’ Vancouver. Ya got all tha teachin’ yer gonna from me on yer bombs. Go t’ tha study – leave tha door open. There’s a map, blueprints, on the desk … study ‘em.”

“Okay; I will. Victor, I’m –”

“Don’t ya dare say yer sorry t’ me; might change my mind ‘bout lettin’ ya live.”

Holding herself tightly, she looked down and nodded. Afraid to leave without specific permission, she asked, “You want me to do that now?”

When he answered, she realized instantly that he wasn’t talking to her anymore.

“Do it again – deeper.”

“I will,” Perrin said, “but you’re … still bleeding.”

“Don’t much care.”

Tabitha wanted to run, but forced herself to move slowly. She groped for the sliding door as Creed grunted behind her, his breath coming short and fast.

One glance back as the opening door to the study let in more light, and there was no doubt; there weren’t even any covers over them to hide the sight of the dark stains creeping across the dull gray silk sheet under Creed’s hips. He was lying on his stomach and there was something strange about his ribs, but she told herself it was only the shadows.

With a metallic flash, the small surgical blade in the young man’s hand sank into the muscle of the thigh. Creed’s lips peeled back in a silent snarl as Perrin mounted his back, but his weakly glowing eyes watched her as she stared in shock at the line of small and dripping wounds above the blade.

Tearing her gaze away with a gasp, she retreated to the desk and fell into his huge chair so roughly that the heavy thing turned a little. Moving it back, she looked down at the spread of blueprints, maps, and other documents – but all she could see was the little blade and the blood that dripped from wounds that hadn’t closed.

Propping her elbows on the papers, she let her head sink into her hands and tried to cry without a sound.

~ ~ ~

Tabitha had remained in the study most of the time, either sitting working at the desk, or trying to fitfully sleep on the couch. She had marked time only by seeing Brys come and go, bringing trays to her and into the master bedroom. She tried to eat and tried to keep it down, but often had to go to her room to be sick. Stepping into the master suite or disturbing them in any way was out of the question, so her bathroom was a refuge for her tears, as well.

Forty-eight hours had passed, give or take, since he’d told her to study the job. The silence was broken often by Perrin’s voice from the bedroom – calling him Victor, speaking in French, and sounding more like a lover than a servant – but she only heard animal noises from Creed.

Several times in the night, she had heard sounds that could only be the two engaged in sex, but it was obvious that Creed was wounded and remained silent and still beyond hisses and growls.

In the morning, she could hear them again, but she winced at the sound of Creed’s low voice urging the other man to hurt him. Fingers shaking, she stared for hours at the maps and plans and one college textbook on chemical engineering.

When she finally closed the textbook, she heard Perrin asking Creed to take it slowly, and then the sound of claws began to click on the floor of the bedroom.

Tabitha didn’t move when his shadow fell over her, blocking the lights she’d turned on to study his papers. His claws brushed through her curls, three shorn pieces of them falling like gold threads around the map.

“Can ya see tha best places fer yer bombs?”

“A few,” she whispered. “Do they want it all knocked over?”

“‘Down t’ tha chickens’ was tha plan.”

Head down, she turned the chair to face him. “Victor, please … let me –”

“No. Ya disobeyed me, frail. Only reason I ain’t killed ya, is cuz Vaughn took yer hits. Didn’t plan it – didn’t fuckin’ know it happened – ‘til I came back from it.”

Swallowing bile, aware she had nothing left to throw up, she shivered under his stare.

“Are you … healed up now?”

“Whattaya care?”

Looking up at him, she took a deep breath. “I didn’t mean for it to –”

His open palm struck her mouth; the blow, light for his strength, knocked her back in the chair. She froze there, afraid to move, and stared up at him as she licked her lip, tasting blood.

“Told ya not t’ try sayin’ that shit.”

He was dressed in the black drawstring lounge pants and his abdomen and chest were streaked with blood. The wounds were closing slowly as she watched.

“Ya sounded like Cueball downstairs, did ya know that? Playin’ God like ‘im, too. Not even worth tellin’ ya t’ shut up ‘bout ‘er, is it? Gonna tell me how I’m worth savin’ cuz snappin’ ‘er neck saved tha world? Got news fer ya, frail: didn’t do it fer tha stinkin’ offal world. Did it cuz she woulda been afraid, woulda been in pain – an’ I promised t’ keep ‘er safe. If keepin ‘er safe meant blowin’ up tha whole fuckin’ planet, I woulda done it.”

Victor backed away from her, eyes closed tight. He bumped into the coffee table, nearly knocking it over, and shifted. When his legs hit the couch, he tumbled down into it in a boneless sprawl of misery. He lay still a moment later with one forearm flung over his face, the metal claws gleaming in the bright overhead lights.

Tabitha sat up, watching his lips move in a growl before words formed there again.

“I woulda done … anythin’...”

“It wasn’t your fault,” she whispered, “it was done to her – the infection.”

His other hand lifted, palm up, entreating her. “Tabitha...”

She rose on shaking legs and approached him. “I’m … afraid, Victor.”

Under the flung arm, he shook his head. “Don’t... I won’t harm ya. Come here, girl.”

Holding her breath, she sat on the bit of couch not covered by his body. His arms moved, the sharp-tipped fingers reaching for her. She closed her eyes and felt him pull her over him until she was lying on top of him on her belly. One heavy arm rested against her lower back, effectively trapping her there.

Opening her eyes warily, she saw his head thrown back. His eyes were still closed, his throat bared – vulnerable. The choker was stretched over the muscles at the base of his neck and a few of the teeth on it were chipped.

She almost spoke, but then realized that he had passed out. Under her hands, a few deep cuts in his chest still oozed blood and she wondered what had happened down in the double parlor to deplete his healing factor that much.

All at once, a terrible thought slid into her mind as she looked back up at his face – and his unguarded throat.

The heavy-duty defenses of the house were turned off for the sake of the snow leopard. It was quiet in the bedroom and the hall; the men must have gone deeper into the master suite, or even downstairs. She was warmly dressed; the heavy coat that had been the hunter Ron Snyder’s was on the bed in her room just one door away.

Her power buzzed in her body, replenished and ready, and Victor Creed had been wounded … hadn’t eaten in days. Sabretooth was laid low … weakened...

 _Oh God, I can’t! Stop, stop it now! He’ll smell your fear, he’ll feel you shaking. Breathe – be calm, be still._ She took slow, deep breaths. Reaching for anything to alter her scent, she forced herself to feel the hard press of his muscles under her, thinking about how he’d made her body writhe. Abruptly, she stiffened.  _What if it’s a test and he’s pretending? Oh, shit, I can’t do this alone!_ Her muddled brain jumped at the thought of crying out for Professor Xavier, but the idea caved in on her in an instant. _What if he doesn’t answer?_ A crushing fear and helplessness washed over her.  _Jean, Emma, even the Stepford Cuckoos – Psylocke. Why not Psylocke?_  Then Victor’s words came back to haunt her,  _‘Maybe they knew an’ didn’t care?’_

One small hand fisted, hovering over the man who had made her life a living hell of terror and confusing heat, of horror and despair.

 _I can hurt him bad, really bad – and then run like hell. He’s weak; he’s still bleeding. This might be the only real chance, ever!_  She licked her bloody bottom lip, trying to fuel her anger and hate. Slowly, lying as still as she could, she began to gather the power inside her hands.

A low growl almost made her yelp aloud, but it wasn’t thrumming under her – it wasn’t him. Stunned, she looked toward the open sliding door. Framed by the darkness of the master suite, the snow leopard crouched there, her thick tail lashing. The eyes were flashing green in the light from the study, wide and eager.

_She can smell it, just like he can_ _, and she’ll jump me to defend him._

Her throat tightened, panic choking her as tears threatened. The cat had killed for him before – Perrin had told her about it, about the wounds in the man he’d dragged into the pit. She closed her eyes tight, her spirit frozen and unraveling.

_If I attack him now, he’ll kill me. Whatever reason he’s been putting it off for, that would be it. He’d do it, too – because no one knows where I am, and … no one cares enough to come if they did. He’ll drag my body down those stairs and toss me into that pit of horrid, rotting things … and no one will ever know..._

The tears welled and she didn’t care when they fell on his chest, making one of the drops of blood there run.

“Shh...”

Tabitha’s entire body tensed at the soft sound of his voice. She could feel the stare of both predators: the feline and the feral. The tears became sobs, but she couldn’t look at him.

Fear numbed her when the arm across her back moved to hold her gently. His other hand brushed at her curls. When the fingers touched her tears, she flinched, gasping.

“Hush … be still.”

He wiped the tears away and then pulled her up until her head was tucked under his chin. One hand petted her hair, clawless fingers toying with it, as the other moved up and down her arm slowly, stroking it.

Tabitha couldn’t obey. The sobs and huffing cries felt like they might tear her apart. When he rose and sat up, holding her against him like a ragdoll, she cried harder.

“Tabitha, look at me,” he said, the voice barely above a whisper.

She shook her head, a squeal of fright torn out of her when the fingers held her head, tilting it up. Her body jerked in shock when his mouth touched hers. His tongue was gentle as it licked the blood clean from her split lip.

“No,” she muttered around his mouth. “Please, don’t... Don’t!”

He stopped, but the fingers still held her face. In terror, sure he would force her under him or kill her outright for defiance, she opened her eyes. His face was bleary in her vision, but the glowing amber eyes hadn’t narrowed to glare at her and the lips weren’t curled into a snarl.

“Cat thinks ya meant t’ do me harm – thinkin’ ‘bout it, huh?”

Unable to speak, she nodded, even as her thoughts spun and screamed. Lying was pointless.

“Decided ya didn’t wanna do it, or didn’t wanna risk it?”

Wilting when his fingers released her and having nowhere else to fall, she fell against his chest, her sobs taking her over.

“Didn’t wanna risk it,” he answered for her. His massive arms were loose as he held her, resting his chin lightly on her hair. “Ya were right before – I was havin’ a stray notion or two ‘bout keepin’ ya … right ‘bout it not workin’, too. I know that – not as dumb as I look.”

Tabitha tried to calm down, to stop crying. He wasn’t hurting her and he’d stopped when she asked him to. Swallowing hard, she was alarmed at the brittle sound of her voice. “You don’t look dumb – you’re beautiful – but you’re not … well. I can’t live like this, afraid of being murdered every day... You’re even dangerous in your sleep.”

“Beautiful?” he whispered.

Half afraid he was mocking her, she pulled back a little to look up at him. “Yes. It’s not fair … but you are. If you were different, healthy … sane – I...”

“I can’t shake tha thought that … Bonnie … was doomed – with me, even if I’d been able t’stop tha plague. I wake up in a rage sometimes an’ tha blankets – hell, tha whole fuckin’ bed – is in pieces. She was in shock, from bein’ hunted an’ … everythin’ else. When tha heat was off, what tha hell could I do with ‘er? Set ‘er up in one o’ my safe houses an’ wait fer tha day she decided t’ gimme lip over tha shit frails always get fussed over? Girl had a spine, had spunk – woulda happened sooner or later. I promised t’ keep ‘er safe an’ I meant it – but like ya said, I ain’t ‘well’.” With a huff of breath, he tossed his head onto the back of the couch and watched her as she stared at him. “Even if I didn’t whack ‘er by mistake, scores o’ folks woulda been gunnin’ fer anyone they knew I gave a damn ‘bout – after they quit laughin’ at tha guy that told ‘em so.”

“She would have been safe in one of your houses,” Tabitha whispered. “This place could embarrass Fort Knox.”

“Ya didn’t see tha house in Vancouver get pulled half down ‘round my ears when Creed Junior’s men came callin’. Push comes t’ shove, darlin’, tha best defense ain’t offense – it’s secrecy. Once they know where I’m holed up, they can see what’s needed t’ blast it apart. If tha safe house ain’t known, they got squat.”

“I know where this safe house is,” she said, her voice dull and flat.

“Stay.”

Stunned, she muttered, “You’re forcing me to stay.”

He growled, the noise making her wince. “Not if ya decide ya want it – fer yerself.”

“For me to do that you’d have to change everything you are – you won’t.”

“I gotta get fitted fer a fuckin’ cape, or no dice? Why don’t ya try my way instead; ya might like it. Ya nearly pasted Vaughn, or did ya forget that?”

“Victor...” She found the courage to touch his face, her fingers stroking the soft sideburn that hid most of the prominent cheekbone. “I can’t become a killer for you; maybe you could give it up – for me?”

The eyes narrowed to bright slits. Lifting her off of him, he dumped her into the couch as he rose and began to pace. Compared to the raw power she’d seen before, she could tell he was still weak. Then she noticed the slight paunch just above the loose drawstring waist of the pants that barely clung to his hips. It was discolored a dark purple-blue. She couldn’t tell if it was a swollen bruise or some kind of internal bleeding.

He hissed at her under his breath. “Who’s playin’ who now?”

“I … I’m not.”

“Yer fuckin’ lyin’, frail. Chuck sunk ‘is hooks in ya years ago, ya can’t think fer yerself one bit.”

“That’s not true!”

“Ya sure Rothenberg sent ya up here, or was it that pious crippled meat?”

“No! I’m not lying, Victor, and you know it!”

“Do it, frail – fuck me up. Ya keep watchin’ me like yer studyin’ where’s tha best spot t’ stick it. Try it an’ see how weak I fuckin’ am, huh? Try it, bitch!”

Watching his back bow – the fists clenched, claws piercing his palms, the teeth bared – Tabitha shrank back and curled into a ball. Tucking her face out of sight so she wouldn’t have to watch him come at her, she pressed her forehead onto her knees and sat there trembling.

The room went silent around her for a long time. She didn’t dare look up until she heard his body strike a wall. He was sliding down it to sit on the floor with his knees up, wrists resting on them. He had winced when he sat, the posture probably hurting the discolored lower abdomen. His claws retracted slowly, the palms bleeding, as his head fell back to lean on the wall. He watched her with heavy-lidded eyes, his expression changed to one of slack exhaustion.

“I’m a mess,” he muttered.

“So am I.”

A small twitch hitched one corner of his mouth into a wry half-smile. “Vancouver, on tha clock; then we go our separate ways, huh?”

“I won’t tell anyone where this house is, or tell them what’s happened; I won’t betray you, Victor.”

“Yeah, right.”

“Why won’t you believe me?”

“Ya got white hat fever, girl – whistle blowin’s in yer blood. Now me, I only look good in a black hat.”

“You’d be unstoppable in a cape.”

“With Chuck stickin’ strings on me, pullin’ ‘em any way that suits ‘im? Dunno how tha runt stands fer that; never could wrap my brain ‘round it.”

“I’m not going to discuss them; it just makes you mad. Besides, I’m not a member of the Wolverine fan club, either – or the professor, these days.” Forcing herself to uncurl, she repeated, “I won’t betray you.”

“Ya won’t stay, neither – could give ya a few reasons t’ change yer mind.”

“Stop killing.”

“Yer life’s a trainwreck. I could teach ya how t’ be a real contract gal – protection shit, right down yer alley.”

Holding her gaze, he began to rise. Moving with a grace that defied injury, bulk, and brutality, she was mesmerized as she watched him approach.

“Or just stay here, sit ‘round eatin’ bon bons, I don’t give a rat’s ass.”

“Victor...”

“Ya wanted cash – ya can have it all here. Ya got no idea how filthy fuckin’ rich I am.”

“I can’t – not as you are, what you do.”

“Pretend it ain’t happenin’, then – ya X-freaks are real good at stickin’ yer heads in tha sand.”

From where he’d started, the coffee table was in his way. He gripped the edge of it and tipped it over, half pitching it a few feet away before dropping to his knees in front of her. He leaned down to nuzzle her belly; fingers sliding under her, his thumb pressed into her crotch through the jeans.

The tongue flicked out and licked her navel before slipping under the denim waistband. The lips kissed her fluttering skin, his breathing deep, scenting her as his thumb pressed and rubbed, making her body slick so easily.

Yet as his mouth moved, the tip of one protruding bottom fang pricked her ribs, making her gasp. She tried to use it to convince herself that there would always be danger here, in spite of the hunger that flushed her skin.

Tabitha’s hands came down on his broad shoulders. “I won’t pretend; I won’t live a lie while you slaughter innocent people.”

His chuckle was laced with a growing heat that made her wet in a few slamming heartbeats. “Innocent, huh? Darlin’, most o’ tha people I kill fer money are tha same type o’ folks yer old gang o’ capes keeps tryin’ t’ put outta business. Guess what? My methods stick.”

When his fingers popped the button on the jeans, the zip was loud in her ears as her breathing became fast and shallow. One thick finger slid in, crooked, and set her on fire.

“Now ya wanna fuck me – could have that anytime ya wanted, too. I wouldn’t leave ya high an’ dry, or ignore ya. All ya gotta do is walk through a room I’m in an’ ya’d have me droolin’ fer it. Ya let tha cornhusker lie t’ ya ‘bout bein’ too busy – a real man can fill ‘is woman before he leaves – always time fer that.”

Her hands gripped his wrist, but she couldn’t even try to pull the hand away from her. “Are you going to lie and say you’ll be true to me?”

“Ha! What, white picket fence shit? Oscar Wilde had it right: ‘Bigamy’s havin’ one wife too many; monogamy’s tha same.’ How’s this fer a compromise – if I fuck any other skirts, it’ll be rape; that don’t count as cheatin’.”

“Ugh, I’d rather you gave that up, too. I’d have to share you with Perrin, I suppose?”

“Natch, since yer allergic t’ cuttin’ me when I ask nicely, an’ one specific lad in Chicago, I’d wager – I gotta climb on that li’l minx any chance I get.”

“Victor?”

“Mmm?”

“Shut up and fuck.”

His gruff, low laugh melted her. Somewhere in the back of her jumbled thoughts was the fear that she really was going to end up as crazy as he was; she’d gone from being ready to risk mortally wounding the man to urging him to take her again. In between, he’d been prepared to kill her, almost on the heels of asking her to be his – sort of.

 _His property, anyway._  “Wait, don’t shred everything.” The fingers that were pushing up her thick sweater were already growing claws.

“Relax, doll – gonna show ya what I can be … when properly inspired.”

Remaining on his knees, he leaned over her. One hand held the sweater up, the other leaving her open jeans. She gave a soft whine at that and he grinned. Licking her juices off his finger as she watched, he slipped that hand under her and popped the catch of her bra strap.

“Wow – didn’t know you knew how to work those,” she murmured, groaning as his tongue went to work over her breasts.

Head lifting slightly, he groused, “Yer always tryin’ t’ get me t’ talk when I got better things t’ do with my tongue.”

Tabitha covered her face with her hands for a moment before dropping them to his shoulders again so she could watch him pleasure her. The press of teeth made her shiver as it always did, and then his lips claimed her nipple. His mouth was shockingly gentle and what he did made her come within four quick breaths.

“Victor, please … come up here.”

“Nope. Ya threw down a fuckin’ gauntlet, girl – gave me somethin’ t’ prove. That just turned this quickie int’ a longie.” He moved to the other nipple, did it again, and she was afraid she might stop breathing.

Victor slid down, lips kissing her body on the way. It made her writhe, needing him inside – and it scared her, too. Nerves made her babble. “The only quote I know from Wilde is, “‘I can resist anything except temptation.’”

“A genius, that boy.”

“Going to tell me you met him, too?”

“Nope. He was dead before I ever got t’ London. Saw ‘is play in 1913 durin’ a revival they did in tha original theater, though – that Ernest one – laughed my ass off.”

Stunned out of erotic thoughts, she asked, “You go to the theater?”

He looked up at her. “Ain’t got season tickets t’ tha ballet or nothin’, but yeah, now an’ then; lotta shit ya dunno ‘bout me, girl.” Blonde hair hid his face as he went back to licking her into a puddle of boneless goo.

She reached out to touch his hair at his forehead, loving how it seemed to grow straight up before the length made it fall over in messy waves of curling gold. It looked like it was styled that way, but she knew he never bothered beyond a ponytail band or a braid. The lashing tongue wetting her panties made her grip the hair, but the gentle pull only started up his purr.

“How did a murderer like you learn how to do that? You said you usually kill someone while doing them – not much point in learning fancy tricks.”

His purr vibrated on the skin of her belly, nearly making her come again. “Had some teachers I wasn’t aimin’ t’ kill – trusted one or two o’ ‘em enough t’ bother learnin’ some stuff.”

“Trusted?”

“Yup – wasn’t born knowin’ it all, ya know. That came later.”

She caught up more of his hair, twining it around her fingers. Drawing it away from his face, she tugged it lightly again to make him look at her, ignoring the short growl. “Who were they?”

“Ya really wanna have a chat – right tha hell now? Cuz I’d rather eat yer pussy.” He grinned when the words made her body twitch. “Got tha pussy’s vote, I think.”

Tabitha released his hair and stroked her fingers down his sideburn again, surprised when he pressed into the touch. “Who were they?” she repeated in a whisper.

“A Frenchman here in Canada, tha one with tha cigarettes on tha rails; a London rent boy in tha early 1900s, a tycoon’s wife in Philly after World War One an’ a prostitute in Berlin in World War Two.”

“Huh. No one who hasn’t been dead for over a hundred years?”

“One madam in Chicago, ‘bout twenty years back – ‘nother in Japan before ‘er. Both o’ ‘em are still breathin’ an’ still friends o’ mine. Gonna lemme eat in peace now?”

For an answer, she moved her hand to the top of his head and pushed it down. “I should have my head examined.” She yelped when he grabbed the jeans and shucked them to her thighs, lifting her with the force of it.

“Don’t hold no truck with those mind-witches; most o’ ‘em just wanna screw me over. Don’t seem t’ matter none if they’re telepaths or just shrinks.” One finger slipped under the panties and started to tug at them.

Not about to get onto that topic, she plucked at the finger before the claw came out. “Let me up – I’ll take them off.”

“In a hurry, darlin’?”

Tabitha started to answer, but then he shifted, dragged the panties out of his way and thrust his tongue inside her. She strained to open her legs for him, but his arm and the jeans wouldn’t let her. The restriction of movement made her heartrate jump.

“Oh, my God...”

His chuckle puffed hot breath on her folds before he settled into torturing her in a whole new way. Within minutes, her hands were fisted in his hair, pulling it hard without even noticing as she writhed, bucked, and moaned.

“Stop, now...”

He paused long enough to mutter, “That worked fer ya yet ‘round here?”

“Victor, please – I need you … inside. Now. Rip the damn clothes off and fuck me before I die!”

“Hmm, sounds serious.” He left her all at once, moving so fast that her head spun. Flopping onto the couch beside her, his weight almost tumbled her into his lap. One palm gave her shoulder a playful nudge before he pointed to the space in front of them. “Strip.”

Tabitha struggled to her feet, weaving a little in a daze from rising too quickly. She had to pull the jeans up to walk to where he was pointing. Staring at the bulge of his erection in the soft black pants, she hopped on either foot to tear the boots off.

Meeting his gaze as she dragged the jeans back down and the sweater off, she was stunned at the avid attention he gave her body as it was revealed bit by bit.

 _Sam used to watch me like that, at the start – once he quit, he never really did it anymore. When we’re like this, Victor looks at me like a starving man watching someone else eat. It’s … so hot._  Shaking her head slightly, she swallowed hard.  _Going bonkers, Tab_ _– stark staring bonkers._

“Wait,” he said, palm out. “Slow down with tha black frillies.”

She had tossed the loose bra after the sweater. When he spoke, her thumbs had been hooked in the sides of her lace underwear.  _Another woman’s underwear – his victim. You can’t afford to forget what he is, damn it!_ “They’re sopping – and a little icky,” she protested.

“Yup, with yer juice an’ my spit – ya gotta get over this squeamish shit. Bodies do what they do, no use bein’ all embarrassed ‘bout it – ‘sides, it all makes me crazy.”

“So why are you such a nympho, anyway? I thought I was a slut, but you make me look like a nun.”

Victor threw his head back and laughed and Tabitha smirked in spite of herself.

“Ya ever think ‘bout what’s involved in havin’ heightened senses? There’s five o’ those damn things, right? Sight, hearin’, smell … then taste an’ touch. I’m a sucker fer candy, that an’ eatin’ pussy – better’n a barrel o’ whiskey. Hell, tha boys don’t keep sweets ‘round here, or I wouldn’t get much done. As fer touch, sometimes just walkin’ in pants starts t’ get me goin’. Livin’ hell when yer locked up without a chance fer a whiff, lick, or stick in X-digs, lemme tell ya. Unless some li’l chippie comes ‘round t’ rub on me.” Tossing her a wink, he added, “So lose those an’ get over here an’ rub on me, huh?”

Stripping off the wet lace and dropping it, she stood between his legs. Leaning down, blushing as he watched her breasts, she freed his cock and held the heavy thing in both hands. Not wanting to get caught looking at his abdomen, she flicked a glance at it as if she was merely admiring his cock. The bruise colors were already lighter.

When his fingertips touched the discoloration, she knew she’d been caught. He cut off her attempt to apologize. “Took damage in tha mess with Vaughn, gotta bleeder left in there somewhere. Hafta let it heal slow fer now.”

“Does it hurt?”

“Not enough t’ hinder our fun.” He glanced down at his dick in her hands. “Make ‘im happy an’ I bet I won’t notice it a bit.”

She gave him a smile and bent lower. Her lips kissed the hooded head of it and then she nipped the foreskin with her teeth, loving his sharp intake of breath. “I’m betting I don’t need any lube by now.”

His lips curled into a leering smirk. “Have a seat.”

She got it inside her as fast as her body could take it, her knees splayed over his thighs. It was hard to move, but then he gripped her hips and ground up into her.

“Easy,” she whispered.

“Not gonna punch yer uterus up between yer lungs…”

When the next thrust was smooth and slower, she moaned and tried to clench her muscles around him. The groan he gave her made her bite her lip and then wince.

“Didn’t wanna hit ya,” he muttered, staring at her body as he lifted it over and over, up and down his shaft. “Told ya three times not t’ –”

Reaching out, she pressed her fingers to his lips. “Don’t – I pushed you. I need to learn not to push you.”

“I fuckin’ hate Chuck’s pink steamin’ guts.”

“Um, that’s sexy.”

Meeting her gaze, he stopped his thrusts and pulled her in close. His mouth on hers was gentle, the tongue touching the split in her bottom lip like an apology. “If I coulda got t’ ya before he did – before ‘is politics fried yer brain … what a woman ya’d be.”

Shocked and saddened at once, she pressed her forehead against his. “I still wouldn’t be a killer – it’s not in me.”

“Don’t hafta be – if ya...”

Her hands rose to hold his face between them. “If I … what? Tell me, Victor...”

“If ya stayed … stayed … with me.”

Her heart thumped painfully as she embraced him. His arms around her were like steel beams. He nuzzled her neck, a growl that could have been hunger or frustration sounding low at her ear. She felt the lips on her neck, and then the teeth.

“Careful...”

“Wanna … taste ya...”

Tabitha’s pulse jumped, her heart hammering in her ribcage, but she couldn’t ignore the heat that flooded her body at the thought of his fangs. He shifted slightly beneath her and the movement nearly made her come.

“Tabitha... Need it…”

“Please, Victor – make it … careful.”

The fangs were so sharp that at first she didn’t even feel them break the skin. He pushed them in just a little, slow and easy, and pushed his cock up deeper at the same time without moving his upper body at all.

“Victor … oh … it feels … so...” She was bleeding, but he caught it with his tongue. The noise he made when she relaxed and surrendered to his bite rolled her right over the edge. She heard his sharp sniff, knew he was getting off on the scent of her pleasure as much as the feel of her, the taste of her … and it ratcheted that pleasure up another few notches. “Don’t stop … harder,” she urged, crying out when his mouth left her.

She stared at the sight of him licking her blood off of his lips. “Can’t get too int’ that, darlin’ – I ain’t known fer my restraint, remember?”

“I … I liked it.”

“Noticed that, actually.” His smile was slight and almost … shy.

Tabitha stroked the backs of her fingers down his sideburn, leaning her head in until his lips kissed her forehead. “Victor?”

“Yeah?”

“Please fuck my brains out now.”

Another growl rumbled up from his chest as he grinned fiercly at her. She smirked at the eager sound of it, realizing that she was starting to be able to tell the difference between anger and pleasure in those beastial noises.

He picked her up off of him just to lay her out beneath him and once the piston motion began, his relentless thrusts drove her right out of her mind.

~ ~ ~

“Oh, man – you’re really heavy and the floor is not comfy...”

Victor grunted and rolled until she was lying on him. “Better?”

“Much,” she answered, leaning down to kiss him again. “I’m not even sure how we ended up down here. That might have come close to ‘making love’, if it weren’t a touch kinky.”

“Kinky’s my middle name.” In a flash as he studied her face, his smile slipped away. His expression was almost vulnerable, making Tabitha hold her breath. “Tell me again this ain’t some elaborate scheme; tell me Cueball Xavier didn’t send ya up here t’ lure me int’ ‘is kennel o’ costumed monkeys.”

“It had nothing to do with him. I was screwed up enough to take a job from a creep and stumbled into you. Besides, I wouldn’t be a good enough lure for that, anyway.”

Victor’s soft laugh made her hungry again. He was ready, too, and she wouldn’t have to wait long. “Yer kiddin’, right?” he whispered into her ear. “If Chuckles had a hot an’ wet snatch like yers, I woulda been marchin’ with ‘is X-chumps decades ago, just a happy li’l critter on a chain.”

“I remind you of her, or you wouldn’t have bothered with me this long.”

“Ya do, an’ ya might be right; plus, ya can defend yerself against folks who’re always lookin’ t’ mess with me. Yer brainwashed, but I can overlook that – if ya ain’t playin’ me fer a chump, here.”

“I guess I’m supposed to overlook your habit of going through horrid social taboos and felonies like other guys change their underwear?”

“Natch. ‘Sides, I don’t wear underwear.” He rolled her off of him, grinning at her protest. “Get up over tha couch. I can burrow deeper int’ that tight fuckin’ heaven if yer bent in half, holes up.”

She obeyed, panting and shameless with her ass in the air. “Come on,” she urged. “Make it rough; I want to feel your strength.”

“Every drop o’ it’d split ya, girl.”

“I don’t care.”

“Mmm, likin’ that on ya, Tab.”

“What?”

“Me.”

When he shoved inside, his cum their lube, she almost screamed.

His weight came down over her back, hips thrusting hard and rough. “Let it go, darlin’ … lemme hear ya scream fer me...”

One more thrust, another – and she did scream, losing her senses in lust for him.

*****************************************************************

“Shouldn’t you eat to heal? Are you being stubborn or what? Brys told me you usually kill a whole tray of meat when you get hurt. I didn’t realize Vaughn still had so much fight in him.”

Victor gave her a searching look and then shook his head. He didn’t know how other people made it through life unable to use their noses one bit. The incident with the flatscan male was still lost in a red fog, but his nose told him that it wasn’t Vaughn who did the damage he’d suffered.

He stretched and settled again, arms flung across pillows where he’d landed after the last round. The skirt was sitting close, her thigh touching his. She was warm, and petting his chest and ribs. It felt far better than his belly currently did.

“Victor?”

“Ain’t bein’ stubborn,” he muttered, too tired to be irritated with her questions. “Tha body knows what it needs. Don’t feel hunger, just feel – off, wrong. Gotta be tha stomach … probly fightin’ off peritonitis, too. Obvs, tha abdominal cavity’s still a bit fucked.”

“We should be letting you rest.”

“‘We’ needed a good solid fuckin’ session. Ain’t gettin’ sore, are ya?”

“Um, yes…”

Victor snorted. “Lightweight.”

“Can I touch it?” Her hand moved, hovering over his belly.

The growl was involuntary. “No.” With a sigh for the worried look on her face, he reached for her wrist and shifted her fingers back to the line of fur growing up his torso to thatch and then spread over his chest. “Rub an’ scratch that,” he told her. “That feels good.” When she did, he began to purr.

“I love hearing you do that,” she whispered. “If… If you need to sleep, you can…”

Victor was almost there, but nervous to sleep around her. He drew in a deep breath, scenting the air – and caught the smell of the boy in the study through the open sliding door. It was dark with the fire near the bed down to embers. He turned his head and saw the boy sitting on his desk chair in the pitch black of the study with a pistol on his lap. When that pretty face smiled, nodding to him, Victor let the breath go and closed his eyes. Relaxing the last of the tension in his body, the purr deepened as sleep claimed him.

~ ~ ~

“You said three days.” Her fingers touched the bandages on the side of her neck. One sniff told him the gentle bite was already healed.

Victor sat up, got his feet on the floor, and scrubbed his face with his palms. “We’re goin’ early. Gonna show ya tha flipside o’ me – no surprises, no lies. Ya can make up yer mind on tha other end.”

“You’re ‘filthy fucking rich’, right?”

“Yup.”

Before he could get out of the bed, she rose to her knees behind him and draped herself over his shoulders. He growled appreciatively at the feel of her sharp little nipples pressing against his back. Taking her crossed wrists in one hand, he lifted them to his mouth and nipped playfully at her thumbs.

“So … couldn’t you, I don’t know … retire?”

“A man in his prime?”

“You’ve had plenty of primes by now, more than most people get. Point is, you don’t need to kill for money if you already have all the money.”

“Point is, I enjoy what I do.”

“Well … what if you only whacked bad people?”

“Ooo, a compromise on Chuck’s high’n mighty moral code? Gonna get yer hero badge revoked if ya ain’t careful.” He took stock of things and realized to his mild surprise that he was both hungry and willing to eat. A glance down showed a smooth, flat belly with no scent or sign of injury. “Off,” he told her, releasing her wrists. “I want meat.”

“You’re hungry? Finally!” She moved to sit beside him and didn't reach for anything to cover up with.

“So why don’t ya make yerself useful – go scamper down an’ tell Brys t’ bring up a tray? Pile o’ caribou fer me, an’ hero Wheaties fer ya, so ya can polish yer white hat after fuckin’ me nonstop.”

“There was a stop; we slept for a few hours. I’m still amazed that you don’t snore – Wolverine snores like a buzz saw.” At his arched eyebrow, she winked. “So I’ve heard.”

Victor grunted and rose. “Chalk it up t’ clean livin’; speakin’ o’ which, gonna wash tha stink off. Feel free t’ join me – after tha breakfast order.”

“Why don’t you just show me where the intercom is?” She got up and stretched. “I know you can call the kitchen from here.”

“Yer tha one that needs t’ exercise, remember? Hit tha stairs.”

She huffed at him. “Winding the sheets up with you all day and night is worth a month’s workout, dude.”

He watched her hunt for her robe and thought about sticking her when she bent over to pick it up from under the table. Catching sight of a gleam of light from the mantel, he stared at the crystal box a moment before shaking his head and walking off.

The shower was nearly done when the skirt reappeared. She didn’t open the door and he didn’t either. She sat on the dais steps in her robe and studied her fingernails.

“What is it now?”

“Nothing.”

“Liar.” Rinsing his hair again, he spun the taps and turned off the water. Opening the glass door, he stepped out to take the folded towel she offered. “Perrin give ya a hard time fer monopolizin’ me?”

“No, it was Brys –”

“Thought he liked ya.”

“Yeah, he seems to… Look, he told me – what they found in the double parlor.”

“Lemme guess – yer plannin’ t’ cry over that rat-fuck Vaughn? He woulda plugged ya if he coulda, ya know that.”

“Victor … don’t you know?”

“Spill it, girl – spill it or drop it.”

“They found ... parts, hunks … of you.”

Victor glared at her as his mind backtracked, trying to see inside that red haze. “Ain’t got no memory o’ it. Perrin came down, did ‘is best t’ make me feel better. Did I carve off anythin’ ya wanna keep, as a souvenir?”

“He wouldn’t talk to me about you, but he told Brys, and Brys told me.”

“Gonna play ‘I gotta secret’? Drawin’ a blank, here.”

“When you wanted Perrin to – help you –”

“T’ fuck me, girl – learn t’ say tha words, huh?”

“You were hurt, badly – all carved up.” She took a breath, huffed it out, and plain lost it. “Big hunks of meat, of you, on the floor! You gutted yourself… Limbs clawed up and meat cut off! Brys said they could see your metal bones in places, damn it! Victor, you cut your dick off!”

His ears pinned. “So ya got somethin’ unique t’ remember me by. Ya could take it t’ a taxidermist – get tha Guinness World Record fer tha weirdest dildo in history.”

“How can you joke about that!”

“It grew tha fuck back! What’s tha big bloody deal? Ya been playin’ with my dick plenty – so it’s a fresh one, what diff’rence does it make?”

“What difference...” Stricken, she wilted. “I did that to you; by talking about her – I made you do that.”

“Some o’ yer teammates’d be pattin’ ya on tha back fer that, huh?”

“Stop it!”

Victor’s eyes narrowed, a snarl starting to lift his lip. “Ya might wanna dial that down a tad, frail. Gettin’ uppity ain’t healthy.”

She came to him, tears gathering in her big blue eyes. When she reached for him, he drew her in and held her.

“I’m so sorry I did that. I didn’t know and it’s ... just awful...”

“Yer really fussed ‘bout it, ain’t ya?”

Leaning back in his arms to look up at him, she was stunned. “Of course – it must have been terrible. You … really don’t care?”

Sighing, he pressed her into him, his fingers stroking her curls. “Don’t remember it, darlin’. Ain’t tha first time I went after myself in a red fit. Lotta shit stuffs itself int’ my nightmares, but ain’t no sense borrowin’ extra, is there?”

She shuddered, muttering against his chest, “That shouldn’t mean it doesn’t matter...”

The skirt slowly relaxed for a few moments, but it didn’t take long for her back to stiffen with a fresh irritating question.

“If you don’t care, why get so angry the first time I tried to apologize for it? You cared enough to hit me, then.”

“Wasn’t up t’ snuff then. Ya don’t get teamed up with tha runt at all, do ya?”

“No. I’m in the little league; he plays for the majors.”

“Thing ‘bout ferals – we get cagey when we’re knocked off our game. Corner a wounded or trapped beastie an’ yer askin’ fer a world o’ hurt. Didn’t need t’ know what I carved off t’ know tha body wasn’t healthy. It’s workin’ on comin’ back t’ top condition, better post breakfast, no doubt. So now I’m feelin’ more like my head’s on straight – relatively speakin’.”

“You’re a very confusing and dangerous puzzle, you know that?”

“Maybe ya should read up on mental disorders instead o’ history books, huh? They don’t call me ‘psychotic sociopath’ as a cuddly pet name.”

“Why don’t you want to fix it – to get better?”

“Ain’t tha flu, girl – it’s what I am.”

“What they made you.”

Growling, Victor let go and stepped past her. Tucking the towel around his hips, he let his hair drip and walked off. The smell of meat was growing stronger outside the double doors.

“Don’t start that shit; it’ll only end in tears – yer tears.”

Brys was setting the heavy tray on the table as he returned to the bedroom. Apparently, he'd opted for eggs and bacon for the skirt.

 _Musta been fresh outta hero Wheaties._  “I’m gonna get tha jet cleared t’ land in Faro,” he told his servant. “When this job’s done, I’ll be comin’ back here first fer tha cat.” As the skirt walked up, he added, “With or without Roy Rogers.”

“Roy Rogers?” she asked, frowning.

“Yeah – didn’t Chuck ever educate ya in pop culture?”

She sighed at his smirk. “I know who it is; why are you calling me that?”

“Proverbial white hat, never lost it an’ it never got dirty.” The smirk spread into a grin as he turned back to Brys and sat down at the table. “Skirt’s learnin’ how t’ get nice’n dirty, though, t’ be fair.”

When Brys pulled the other chair out for her, Victor chuckled.

“Thanks,” she said. Eyeing him as he speared a thick slice of meat on two claws, she asked, “Would you at least consider cutting out just a couple of the demeaning sexist nicknames?”

“Nope.” He half-gulped the meat, turning his head to shear it down and swallow it.

“So your social skills are doomed to match your table manners, huh?”

Not sure what was more amusing, her sass or Brys’s shock, Victor leaned his elbows on the table and flashed another grin. Piercing a second slice with a claw, he wagged it at her.

“If ya wanna bask in ‘social skills’, ya’d best keep walkin’. Ya can always crawl back t’ tha cornhusker an’ let tha cobwebs stuff yer slit – but I’d bet he ain’t got manners much better’n mine. Least here, yer pussy ain’t goin’ hungry. Or tha rest o’ ya. Now use that hole in yer face t’ shovel grub in an’ lemme eat in peace.”

~ ~ ~

Victor stood in front of the mounted head of a hippopotamus. Beside him on the other wall, a rhino stared with glass eyes. Stretching out into the gloom of the narrow hall, other things were mounted on plaques, and some of the trophies still held the weapon they had once tried to kill him with. The boy had paused on the top stairs behind, respectful of his delight in past conquests.

“Ya know these beauties kill more tourists than all tha other beasties in Africa.” He didn’t expect a reply and didn’t get one – the boy had heard all of these stories. “He surprised me an’ wouldn’t give it up – ‘til I surprised ‘im back.” Moving on down the hall, he snorted. “Gotta bring back some new ones, if anythin’ interestin’ comes along.”

“What about the girl?”

Victor chuckled. “She’d look good on tha left by tha Hand ninjas, huh?”

“Yes, actually – but I meant, did you intend to bring her here as a part of this proposed tour?”

“Naw, gotta game afoot an’ that wouldn’t wash.” As he passed a mounted pair of large hands holding an axe, he let a claw strike and chime off of the sharp blade. “Need t’ show ‘er tha softer side o’ yers truly.” Turning to display a spreading grin, Victor winked at him. “Just tha hangar, maybe tha arsenal – scrapper like ‘er might be more impressed with guns than Prada boots an’ diamonds.”

“Brys asked if you might be growing fond of her.”

Victor had started off again, but the boy’s carefully casual words sparked a low growl in his throat as he stopped, the muscles of his back and shoulders tensing. One hand curled as the rest of the claws slid out.

“What’d ya say?”

“I told him he was mistaken.”

“Good.”

He didn’t move or react when the small hands touched his back to stroke the taut muscles, the short fingernails brushing through the fur there. His scent was spiced with pheromones.

“When you return for the leopard, will you leave right away for Nepal?”

Victor watched one of the hands as it slipped around his hip to experimentally tug at his wide leather belt. The growl turned guttural as the scent of want lured his cock away from his planned agenda.

“Probly will – gotta schedule t’ keep, boy.” Victor grinned, fascinated by the willing heat of his servant. “If ya wanna rip off a piece now, we can keep tha skirt waitin’ a bit longer. She’s cute when she’s pissed.” He put his back to the wall between two trophies and began to open his jeans.

To his surprise, the boy walked past him to continue down the hall. “She can suck you later; I want you to fuck me.”

Victor watched him as he turned to enter the main control room. Memory flashed, an image of the small French Canadian lifted out of his chair years ago to be flung on the massive leather couch at the back of the room. Clothes torn open and pale skin scratched, he had moaned at the feel of the claws. The sight of the flat black plastic end of the plug the boy had been impaled with had shocked him.

Shaking his head, he followed to find the boy quickly stripping away his clothes, leaving them scattered by the head of the couch.

“We havin’ a reminisce?”

“I never know when you’ll return … give me your marks before you go. Please, Victor...”

“That butt plug ya had in tha first time, biggest fuckin’ thing I ever saw. Ya planned that.”

“You liked it.”

One eyebrow arching up, Victor scented the air, sifting through the pheromones and smells of leather, stone, and metal – and plastic. The grin returned to split his face as he approached. “Reminisce it is. Down on yer face, boy – ass up, now.”

“Yes, sir.”

The boy gasped when the claws barely missed flesh to grasp the flat black plastic of the plug. Setting his other hand on the stomach that heaved with quickening breaths, Victor let his fangs stroke down the smooth back.

“Gonna rip this thing out rough; do ya remember yer lines?”

With no more warning than that, he yanked and growled in heat at the scream he tore from the boy’s throat. Admiring the heap of gasping flesh and the gape of the body cavity the plug had readied for him, he barely managed to strip without shredding his jeans.

Nothing more than spit on his cock eased the way as he sunk deep in one thrust, a knee in the couch, the other foot’s claws scoring the stone floor as he gripped the hips. Claw points stabbing in, he took what was offered and gave what was asked.

Curling his body, he leaned down to let fangs gently grasp the boy’s shoulder a moment before whispering in his ear, “I might just kill ya one o’ these days ya know; best not t’ think yer safe. Ain’t never safe with tha likes o’ me...”

“I want to be fucked by you … cut and bit by you,” he answered, panting between the words, his face a grimace. “If you want my death one day … I still get what I want.”

“Crazy fuckin’ Frenchmen,” Victor muttered, but he couldn’t wipe the smirk off of his face. “Don’t go all boneless on me,” he ordered. “Once I blow, yer gonna be next up t’ bat.”

Placing his fangs on the shoulder again, he let them bite in. Blood welled and flowed, caught by his thrashing tongue as his body lurched, driving deep inside the boy over and over. He let the fangs jerk in the flesh and reveled in the fresh scream and the moan of lust that chased it.

~ ~ ~

The exchange of glances between the boy and the skirt put the smirk back on Victor’s face. She took in the thick white bandage on his shoulder that peeked out of his sweater and paled.

“Ya oughta be packin’ heat on this trip, Tab, so get yer ass in here an’ pick outta toy.”

She entered the armory cautiously for a moment before remembering her ragged pride. The chin came up as she approached the center table where Perrin was checking out one of the assault rifles they’d salvaged from the goon squad attack. She had dressed in one of the fancy suits he’d brought her, the skirt just above the knee. Prada boots on and hair shining, she was ready to travel as instructed.

A vague longing sparked a glow in her eyes as her fingers reached out to touch the rifle the boy wasn’t inspecting. Victor could almost see her imagining picking it up and filling his tailored black suit with holes.

“What is that, frail? Impress me.”

“Heckler and Koch G36 5.56mm assault rifle. Pete Wisdom taught me more about weapons in a month than the others bothered to do in years.”

“Ya know more than stats?”

“No. I know how to use it.”

Victor chuckled. “Designed in tha early 1990s, accepted int’ service with tha Bundeswehr in 1997.”

She didn’t seem thrilled with his knowledge of history as her finger stroked down the barrel. “Do I get to lug one of these around? Airport security will love me. We’ll go to third base in a hot minute.”

“I don’t hafta bother with those clowns – rich an’ priviledged, ya know.”

“Of course. So what, a handgun? This one?” she asked, reaching for a Heckler and Koch P9.

“If ya can handle it.”

“Don’t worry about me.”

“Didn’t plan t’ bother.”

She picked up the P9, checked that the safety was on and held it in one hand before she started to look around. “This is like a hardware shop in Hell.”

Perrin smiled. “We just call it the armory.”

“You’re fond of diversity, huh?”

Following her gaze over the racks and shelves of rifles and guns and beyond to the spears, axes, and other fun items from other times, Victor grunted. “Collected most o’ these from idiots who came ‘round tryin’ t’ kill me.”

“What is that weird thing with the blades going every which way?” She pointed up at a twist of metal blades with a handle on the back wall.

“Hunga Munga, from Africa. A limey asshole lodged it in my skull … before tha adamantium, natch.” Irritated by the grip of the tie at his throat, he tugged it a fraction looser.

“Huh. Ow.” Turning to face him, she sighed. “When are we leaving? I’ve packed your last victim’s suitcases already.”

“Pretty much now.” He relieved her of the pistol and handed it to Perrin. “Add that t’ tha rest an’ pack ammo fer tha trip. We’ll be in tha hangar. Be ready when I am.”

“Yes, Mr. Creed.”

Smirking again at the look the skirt tossed the boy, Victor gave her a nudge. “Let’s go, darlin’.”

In the master suite with their overcoats on, he let the security device in the hall take a retinal scan and enjoyed her surprise when it shunted up the wall on its tracks to reveal the elevator doors. It also gave access to the hidden door that led to the stone stairs, but he didn’t plan to show her that. What he often called the ‘cat door’ opened to reveal a gleaming steel elevator car.

He smiled when he caught her glancing up at the now lit and humming security device overhead before she passed under it. She managed to shut up for the ride down, and then he noticed her lips moving slightly, as if she was counting in her head.

“Tryin’ t’ determine how far down we’re goin’?” He chuckled when she looked startled.

“We need to be in a basement to leave?”

The car stopped and the doors opened, revealing the cavern hangar. “After ya, Tab.”

“Like hell, you first.”

Victor laughed and the sound echoed as he stepped out. Behind him, she cautiously followed.

Lights in neat rows along the rough hewn walls and ceiling came on as they moved, showing the size of the cave clearly in a few moments. On the vast smooth concrete floor, several toys waited: a variety of vehicles, two helicopters, a small plane, and half a dozen snowmobiles.

Taking it all in, the skirt snorted. “I’m racking up one hell of a fee on that one in front; it was supposed to be a shorter rental.”

“Tsk, tsk...”

“We’re not driving to Vancouver, right?”

“Nope. Yer luggage is in tha black chopper over there.”

“Her luggage.”

Victor turned to face her and stopped, a smile tugging at one corner of his lips. “Ya wanna have it out now, frail? Ain’t gonna listen t’ ya whine an’ bitch tha whole way there over whatever tha fuck yer pissy ‘bout.” When she remained silent, glaring at him, he let the smile stretch. “Lemme guess – ya saw tha bandages on tha boy an’ got yer titties in a twist over it?”

“No.” She crossed her arms over her chest and lifted her chin. “I don’t care if you stick it in a sheep. We have a deal. I help you blow stuff up and you pay me and let me go. This little ‘go early and spend quality time’ plan of yours isn’t going to make me want to put up a white picket fence around your oubliette.”

With a playful snarl, he moved close, snaking one arm around her waist. His other hand rooted under her skirt, one claw sliding out to slice a neat hole through her undergarments.

She held her breath and wisely kept still until the claw retracted and his fingers invaded her body. Letting her breath go, she whimpered. One small hand moved to touch his forearm, but hovered over it.

“Know what I think, darlin’? I think if I do this right, yer gonna juice all over my fingers an’ moan like a cat in heat fer my fuckin’ dick t’ split ya wide. If I put ya on tha ground an’ pound yer li’l cunt awhile, ya’d put yer white picket fence up ‘round yer asshole an’ beg me t’ fuck that next. Ya think I’m right?”

Her hand closed on his forearm as she began to wilt and stiffen in telling ways.

“Don’t stop...”

“Damn straight.”

He made her come fast, yanked his hand free and brought it up to his mouth to lick the wet from his fingers as she stared up at him, panting.

“Ya know, I figure there’s a lot ya don’t need in order fer yer bombs t’ still work. Hell, ya got two o’ lots o’ yer bits: eyes, ears, stuff like that.” Letting her go to either stand or fall on her own, he turned away and headed for the black helicopter near the hangar doors. “Try t’ run in Vancouver, an’ I’ll start pickin’ an’ choosin’ what ya can make do without.”

Her footsteps didn’t immediately sound behind him, but her fear spiced the cold air, mixing nicely with the scent of her wet slit.

“Come along, darlin’; we got us some property damage t’ do an’ a fence t’ build.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A bit more slash for the slash fans in this chapter. You’re welcome. - AnonGrimm @MET_Fic


	10. Mr. Creed

It’s murder by numbers one two three  
It’s as easy to learn as your ABCs

Now if you have a taste for this experience  
and you’re flushed with your very first success  
Then you must try a twosome or a threesome  
and you’ll find your conscience bothers you much less

Because murder is like anything you take to  
It’s a habit-forming need for more and more  
You can bump off every member of your family  
and anybody else you find a bore

Because it’s murder by numbers one two three  
It’s as easy to learn as your ABCs

Now you can join the ranks of the illustrious  
In history’s great dark hall of fame  
All our famous killers were industrious  
at least the ones that we all know by name

But you can reach the top of your profession  
If you become the leader of the land  
For murder is the sport of the elected  
and you don’t need to lift a finger of your hand

Because it’s murder by numbers one two three  
It’s as easy to learn as your ABCDEs

~  Murder By Numbers (The Police)

*****************************************************************

“You’re the pilot?” Tabitha asked. “You can fly a helicopter…”

“I can also fly a plane, a jet, an’ even a kite.”

“So the mountain is going to open before we hit it, right?”

“Gee, I hope so.”

Tabitha tugged at her seatbelt harness and then found things to hang on to, just in case. Creed worked the controls quickly and the noise level became uncomfortable as the rotors roared to life. She was sure he rushed them at the wall to make her wince. It opened before they hit it, but they were soaring over the snow, mountains and trees before she could get her breathing and heartrate back to normal.

“Yee-haw, right?” He grinned at her.

She struggled not to glare at him. “What is this thing?”

“A helicopter, we established that.” Smirking at her frown, he added, “It’s a twin engine Sikorsky S-76. They had one in black – I couldn’t resist.”

“Who in their right mind would sell you things like this?”

“Folks not in their right minds, natch, or just greedy ones. Some people are more int’ turnin’ a profit than they are fussin’ ‘bout what tha buyer might use a toy like this fer.”

“So you own a jet and you’re going to fly it yourself to take the cat to Nepal?”

“That’s tha plan. Got lotsa jobs comin’ up; gonna work ‘er in an’ try t’ make tha fuel costs make sense. Ya weren’t readin’ when I was on tha phone, though, so ya already know that.”

“Where do I fit into that plan?”

“Depends on how our li’l jaunt in Vancouver goes, Tab. Lotta that’s up t’ tha choices ya plan t’ make.”

She watched the pristine white world go by and whispered, “Do I really have a choice? Besides ‘do what you say or die’?”

“Most folks prefer tha easy choices, don’t they?”

“How am I supposed to learn how to not get killed by you when it could happen at any time, in any mood, in your sleep, or just whenever your brain gets thrown out of your ear?”

“It ain’t that complex – just like flyin’ this thing. Ya take it on, ya practice. Ya figure out which buttons t’ press, which not t’ an’ ya keep yer hands on tha stick most o’ tha time.” His fingers, claws peeking out, stroked up and down the control stick.

“I’m glad one of us finds this humorous.”

“Quit yer bitchin’, yer still alive, ain’tcha? Gonna show ya how t’ have fun when we get there; might even show ya my soft li’l underbelly a bit.”

Tabitha stared ahead to watch the frozen landscape go by beneath them.  _I’m wearing the designer clothes of a woman he probably raped and brutally murdered for no damn reason_ _… maybe just because he figured her clothes would fit me. She was just the latest one, too – and I’ll likely be the next._  She shivered in the dead woman’s coat.  _My only real shot may be in the middle of the job_ _, but first I get to play house for a few more days with the sadistic psychopath._  When his hand reached over, the backs of his fingers brushing her cheekbone and stroking her hair, she managed not to flinch or move away.

“Ya look good with tha cold flush on yer cheeks, Tab. Tha cornhusker’s a moron, but I’m bettin’ ya don’t want me t’ kill ‘im fer ya.”

“Not much can hurt him in a fight.”

“Yeah, that’s only while he’s cannonballin’ – I’d sneak up when he’s balin’ hay or some shit.”

“Could we switch to a topic that isn’t about gutting my friends, my ex, or me? Or anyone else?”

“Sure, but we already know ya got suck taste in tunes. Ya like Monty Python?”

Biting back a sigh, she didn’t look at him. “Yes…”

“Tha dead parrot gag an’ tha Spanish Inquisition just kill me, but  _Holy Grail_  is their best.”

Tabitha could feel it everytime he looked over at her, but she didn’t want to see if he was smirking at her or not. She closed her eyes and turned her face away from him. “I like the fish-slapping dance and the Spam song,” she muttered. When he chuckled and began to sing it in a slightly off-key baritone, she couldn’t help the smile that stretched her lips.  _I am going insane … after another few days with him, I may be too looney to notice when he kills me._

~ ~ ~

She woke when she realized she wasn’t moving anymore. Then her door opened and all the cold came in.

“Wakey-wakey,” Creed told her. He reached in to unbuckle her and just picked her up and set her on her boots.

They were in a huge hangar full of other helicopters, planes, and vehicles, including a passenger jet. Men who looked like airport workers were unloading their luggage from the helicopter.

One of the men trotted up like a loyal, eager pet. “Mr. Creed? Which car do you and the lady want to take, sir?”

“Yer pick, Miss Smith,” Creed told her.

Tabitha looked around so that she wouldn’t gawp at him. The vehicles in the hangar were all expensive. “That one,” she said, and pointed.

“Ya heard tha lady, she wants tha Bugatti,” Creed told the man. He took the keys when another man brought them to him. “Send tha luggage t’ tha hotel, it ain’t fittin’ in that thing.”

“Yes, Mr. Creed.”

“You don’t have to tell them what hotel?”

“Nope. Come on, Tabitha, before ya freeze t’ death. The car’s seats are heated.”

She followed him to one of the craziest sports cars she’d spotted. It was black and maroon with silver accents and she wasn’t sure if it could fly or not. “I’ve never seen a Bugatti that looked like this.”

Creed snorted. “How many ya seen on tha regular? It ain’t a production model, it’s a concept car. Bugatti Veyron EB 18.4. T’ be honest, I thought ya’d go fer tha Rolls.”

“I’ve been in a Rolls Royce; ‘Cueball’ has tons of them.”

He opened her door for her and she managed not to hesitate in confusion. She watched him get into the driver’s seat, amazed that he fit. His hair brushed the ceiling. He started the car and the engine purred, louder than the driver.

“Belt up, darlin’.”

She clicked the seatbelt quickly, noticing that he didn’t bother with his. “Where are we?”

“Vancouver International Airport. Won’t take long t’ get int’ tha city proper, not in this beast.”

“All those men scrambling around waiting on you, calling you ‘Mr. Creed’ – do they all work for you?”

“They think they work fer my banker, but yeah. Every damn piece o’ metal in that hangar belongs t’ me. When they know yer rich, they tend t’ scurry t’ please ya. Are ya impressed yet?”

Tabitha studied him as he drove. The black suit and huge tailored coat, fresh shave, long hair swept out of his face and the alien feral attributes and massive size of the man was impressive, but it was the behavior change that really impressed her – and made her suspicious.

“I am impressed,” she said, remembering to answer his raised eyebrow. “Where did ‘Miss Smith’ and ‘the lady’ come from?”

“From tha flipside o’ me I said I was gonna show ya. I’ll even try t’ remember not t’ threaten ya every five minutes.”

“Since you already got some really good ones in before we left…”

“Natch. Oughta hold ya fer a bit, huh?”

She should have paid more attention to her surroundings as they drove into the city, but she kept stealing looks at him instead.  _Always had a thing for watching a handsome man drive a sports car…_

“Yer gettin’ a bit flushed, Tab – still cold, or are ya gettin’ hot now?”

 _Fuck it,_  she thought. She reached across the car and palmed the muscles of his thigh. “I hope we’re going to the hotel now.”

“Damn straight.”

She undid her seatbelt and leaned into him, her hand sliding to cup his erection. “Good.”

He began driving faster, but controlled the car like a pro. “Wait’ll ya see tha suite.” She squeezed his bulge and he growled with hunger. “Keep that up, darlin’, an’ I might be fuckin’ ya in tha lobby.”

“Sounds like fun.”

“Uh-huh, miss ‘I don’t like t’ be watched’. Ya finally done grousin’ an’ ready t’ relax an’ enjoy fer a bit?”

“Since I may never get out of this city alive, I plan to go out with a bang.”

For a reason she couldn’t possibly guess at, he stopped smirking and fell silent. After a moment, feeling awkward, she removed her hand. The car swerved around traffic more aggressively and she fumbled to buckle up again.

“Did I fuck up somehow?” she whispered.

“I won’t jaw ‘bout guttin’ people if ya agree t’ stop bringin’ up dyin’.”

Sinking lower in her seat, her hands in her lap, she muttered, “Okay. I’m sorry.”

He reached over, picked up her hand and brought it to his mouth to kiss the knuckles. “Lemme try, huh?”

She swallowed. “Okay…” He put her hand back on his thigh and held his over it. Tabitha stared a moment at how tiny her hand was in his. “What are we going to do to relax and have fun?”

“Got some ideas, things I already know ya like. Ya even get t’ leave tha bed some o’ tha time.”

She smiled, shaking her head in mock amazement. “Where are we staying?”

“Four Seasons, booked tha Royal Suite; it ain’t tha biggest, but thought ya’d like tha harbor an’ mountains views.”

“Sounds expensive – I’m in.”

“Takin’ ya shoppin’ too, since ya won’t shut up ‘bout yer hand-me-downs. I like seein’ tha diamond on ya, though; be sportin’ o’ ya t’ keep wearin’ it fer me.”

“I will, but…”

“But what? Spit it out, girl.”

“Who was she?”

“Somebody workin’ on betrayin’ me an’ my banker.” He glanced over, the glowing amber eyes pinning her in a meaningful stare. “She got what was comin’ t’ ‘er fer that an’ that’s all ya need t’ know. Got it?”

“Got it.”

“Oldest rule in tha book ‘bout me, girl – don’t cross me.”

She watched him as he weaved through traffic. Some of his hair had escaped the ponytail and fell in his face. She smiled when he puffed at it. Moving her hand out from under his, she tucked it behind his pointed ear. When she put her hand over his and wriggled her fingers, he laced them together.

“Do you know what I’ve noticed?”

“Do tell.”

“You haven’t called me frail or skirt in quite a while. Thank you.”

“Keep up tha nice an’ grateful act an’ I might even start callin’ ya an affectionate nickname – like Tabby.”

“I might prefer ‘skirt’, Vicky.”

His burst of laughter made her smile again. “Touché, darlin’.”

~ ~ ~

Tabitha was surprised when Creed handed his keys to the valet at the front of the Four Seasons. The valet managed not to faint.

“Don’t go an’ Ferris Bueller my car, kid – trust me, I’ll know.”

“No, sir, I’ll be careful with it.”

A porter had opened her door, but when Creed walked around to her, he offered his arm. “Let’s get ya int’ tha warm. Our luggage beat us here.”

“How do you know?”

He smirked at her. “Cuz I told ‘em it better.”

“Don’t we need to check in?”

“Relax, Tab. I don’t ever hafta ‘check in’. It’s all been handled.”

She took in as much of the amazing lobby as she could, stunned to see that it was decked out for Christmas, but Creed was leading her straight to the elevators. When the doors closed and he didn’t start touching her, she was genuinely surprised. They rose to the twenty-seventh floor and he guided her on his arm to the suite. She let him go as he reached in his coat pocket for the scan card. He held the door open for her as she stepped in.

“Wow, okay – now I’m impressed.” The door shut behind her and the lock clicked automatically.

The place was huge, with more window than wall in most directions. It was a split-level suite, with a two-story high ceiling over the living area and formal dining set. The master bedroom was located on the twenty-eighth floor. The suite was decorated modern but elegant, in blues and earthy tones.

Fingers touching the back of one of the many dark brown apolstered dining chairs, she asked, “Is this where we put the maps to take over the world?”

“Go up tha stairs an’ check out tha master bathroom.”

She turned to face him and grinned. “Is it one of those nutty marble Roman Caesar things?”

“Straight-up Caligula sheik, so I’m told – might be bigger than mine. I got tha idea fer those tubs from a place like this.”

As she stood in the doorway of the massive white marble bathroom, she heard him come up behind her. He started to take her coat and she shrugged out of it. The suite was warm and the huge tub looked tempting.

“I’m fine with seeing nothing but the ceiling over the bed for a while.” Tabitha turned and saw him heading back down to the lower level with their coats. She sat on the bed and took off her boots and suit jacket.

Tabitha looked around quickly, expecting him to come back up any moment. The bedroom level also had a large formal dressing room on the same side as Caesar’s bathroom, nearest to the stairs. It was hard to ignore the phone on the nightstand. There had been another one on a large desk downstairs, but she assumed they were off-limits.

She picked up her jacket and boots and went into the dressing room. The two large suitcases she’d repacked were sitting on stands next to an open walk-in closet full of drawers and hangers. On the other side of the vast expanse of leather couch in the middle of the room, was another closet. A surprising pile of black leather luggage and a black steamer trunk waited beside it. Every piece of it she could see had a silver combination lock on it.

Leaving it all alone, she draped the jacket over one of Fiona’s suitcases, set the boots under its stand, and went to check her reflection in front of a huge freestanding mirror. With a sigh, she tried to ignore the red scratches all over her skin and patted her curls back into place.

“Um, Victor?”

“Down here.”

Heading down the stairs in her suit and stockings, she found him on the couch. He was barefoot, but still in clothes. His crimson tie was pulled loose and askew, but it was still knotted around his neck. He watched her approach with that avid focus that made her shiver and forget her common sense.

“Are we going to bed?”

“Got dinner comin’ up soon, since we skipped lunch. Come here.”

She took his offered hand and let him pull her into him and kiss her. His mouth was gentle and the exploratory kissing, clawless hands in her curls, started a shudder of want up her spine.

Tabitha put her hand on his crotch to find the erection still there, but he plucked it away by the wrist and set it on his chest. When she tried to find a nipple to toy with under the suit jacket and shirt, a soft growl started in his throat.

“Tryin’ t’ make out like teenagers, here. Don’t ruin it.”

In reply, she slid her tongue out and licked it up one of his protruding fangs. His shuddering response made her grin. “I’d rather fuck.” He pulled his head back to look down at her and she couldn’t have read his mood to save her life. “What are the rules for this little vacation? There’s bound to be a few new ones.”

“Were ya ever a real couple with that pointless twit o’ a farm boy? Or was it more o’ a friends-with-bennies deal?”

“Uh, couple, while it lasted. Obviously, I was more serious about it than he was.”

Victor let her face go and stretched his arms out along the back of the couch. “Ya ever play bed games like role playin’?”

“Naughty nurse, French maid? He wasn’t into bondage. The theme was vanilla.”

“We’re gonna play couple. Humor me.”

“Okay… Are there new rules for ‘couple’?”

“We gotta job t’ do soon an’ we do need t’ drag out maps an’ shit later, but ‘sides that, ya already know ‘bout tha ‘no runnin’ off, no crossin’ me’ rules. So if ya wanna pick up a phone an’ call a buddy, be my guest, if ya keep that in mind.”

“With that in mind, I think I’ll pass.”

“I want ya t’ think ‘bout this, Tabitha.” He turned to face her, one hand on her shoulder. When he caught her staring at his pants again, the other hand rose to her face and his fingers held her chin gently. “Look at me.” As she met his gaze, he huffed out a breath. “If we were gonna try t’ make this work, we’d have a lotta shit t’ try an’ compromise on an’ ya already know where I won’t budge. This ain’t ‘bout changin’ me. I still think ya’d make one helluva contract gal under my teachin’, but ya won’t budge on killin’. Ya seen some o’ what I could give ya. I got property an’ mansions all over tha damn globe an’ ya’d be safe in any o’ ‘em. Key is, if ya help me t’ learn t’ trust ya, ya could have tha fuckin’ world on a plate. I ain’t even askin’ ya t’ trust me.”

“Is a part of this that I get to speak freely, even if you don’t like what I have to say? No fear of reprisals, even?”

“Yup, an’ ya can ask me whatever ya want. How much o’ an answer ya get will depend on how much I’m trustin’ ya at tha time, though. Freedoms increase tha same way.”

“How much of this has to do with Bonnie? Am I still just a surrogate blonde you can work your lusts out on? An interchangeable companion to chat with?” She watched him inhale sharply, saw the movement of his claws slide out at either side of her chin. Holding her breath, she watched him struggle to control himself.

“Ain’t gonna lie, girl, I’m not over ‘er; got nightmares, got grief t’ process. Fact is, ya fell int’ my lap before I gotta chance t’ move past it. I can’t exactly let ya go now an’ believe promises yer not gonna come at me with tha spandex cavalry later, cuz I think tha first thing ya’d do is tell Cueball all ‘bout tha Yukon house.”

“So the whole ‘we do the job, you pay me and let me go’ always was just a lie. Gee, what a shock.”

“Givin’ ya freedom o’ yer tongue is gonna be a pain in my ass, I can tell. Best kinda skirt is a tongueless skirt.” He let her go, got up and moved to the dining table. Pulling out one of the chairs, he straddled it with his arms folded over the back. “Once ya got tha likes o’ tha runt, Stormy, One-Eye, Red, Cueball an’ tha rest circlin’ tha fuckin’ wagons, convictions that yer gonna ‘not tell ‘em where I am’ would go right out tha window an’ ya know it. Shit, Cueball could just pluck it right outta yer brains without askin’.”

“Why did you take me there if you never wanted me to know where it was?”

“Cuz I never meant t’ let ya live after tha job was done. That plan could still get changed, if ya want it t’ change.”

“So if I don’t ‘choose’ to be some kind of girlfriend-under-duress, plus make an effort to get you to trust me – never mind that you’re the poster boy of trust issues – my alternative is being murdered, like you actually planned to do all along. I think you need to look up ‘choice’ in a dictionary, dude.”

His eyes narrowed, the upper lip curling into a snarl. “Walk out tha door, then.”

“Not on your life. I’m hungry, horny, poor, and not interested in being hunted to my grisly death on an empty stomach, pussy, or wallet. Hell, I don’t even have a wallet, thanks to you.” She took a breath, refusing to let his abrupt smirk affect her. “You were right about my life being a mess. I don’t have friends anymore, obviously. That stack of telepaths hasn’t exactly honed in on my mental anguish and the last time I started over on my own, I ended up working as a stripper in Seattle.”

“Take ‘nother breath, Tab – yer turnin’ blue.”

“Shut up. ‘Fact is’, you aren’t giving me a choice at all. If it’s duress and you know it, how can you ever start to trust me, no matter what I do? Meanwhile, I could still be mutilated in your sleep, or on a horny whim. You just want to hear me say I’ll try to play girlfriend so you can feel like you won.”

“Ya want tha truth?”

“It’d be nice, yes.”

“I like yer ballsy comp’ny an’ yer nympho danger addiction. Hell, I even kinda like yer sass. Ya gotta giant hole in yer life an’ I’m crazy ‘nuff  t’ think I fill it pretty fuckin’ nicely. Ya ain’t hard t’ look at an’ yer smell drives me outta my mind. Yeah, if ya’d never let ‘em slap an X on yer ass it’d be easier t’ trust ya, but that’s blood under tha damn bridge an’ can’t be helped much now. I ain’t even had a chance t’ figure out what meetin’ Bonnie did t’ me, but it changed me … she changed me.”

“In just one night?” she whispered. “I believe you, Victor, I do, but…”

“It was diff’rent. Don’t expect ya t’ understand that. Skirt like ya could probly wag ‘er ass an’ get any man she wanted, any time – ‘cept those hero freaks, they always put duty over snatch.” He rose and began to pace. “I ain’t gonna run outta digits countin’ up tha people that I know fer a fact are never afraid o’ me. Most o’ ‘em had years or decades t’ settle in t’ that, too. Bonnie saw all tha feral shit, saw me shot an’ watched me shake it off. I saved ‘er, took ‘er t’ a safe house an’ actually planned t’ just satisfy my curiousity ‘bout tha bastards that were chasin’ ‘er, but she claimed she didn’t know nothin’ ‘bout ‘em. I was just startin’ t’ threaten that she’d better remember why they wanted ‘er, when she leaned in an’ fuckin’ kissed me. I asked what tha hell she was doin’, but then she pulled off her shirt an’ started sidlin’ up. Ain’t never seen that before unless tha actions an’ scents didn’t match.”

“Didn’t match? What do you mean?”

“Plenty o’ folks put on an act – like ya did at tha start. I can smell if tha want is real.” Growling, he came back and flopped into the couch on the opposite end from her. “She’d just moved from some tiny puke town t’ tha big city, probly never saw a mutant before, let alone a monster like me. She said all tha danger got ‘er hot. Maybe it was adrenaline, some freak thrillseeker high? Shit, I dunno. She wanted me, over an’ over – tha stamina, tha hunger o’ that woman… Not just cuz she wanted some dick an’ I had a convenient one. I been alive a helluva long time, girl – never had that before, not once. She wanted ... me. Diff’rent.”

“Victor…”

“Don’t want yer pity, girl.”

“It’s not – never mind… You were, ah … compatible in bed? I sort of got the idea that any woman instantly into you would have to be very experienced and already … hard-core.”

“Wasn’t a virgin sacrifice, but didn’t have much experience; I can always tell. I was pretty surprised myself when she turned out t’ have a natural taste fer my brand o’ fun. Wanted my bite, loved tha claws an’ tha nympho slut preoccupation – even got turned on by tha ‘tude. She didn’t know what she was doin’, but she jumped in with both feet. I’d bet she woulda been game fer anythin’ I wanted t’ do.”

“How was she able to handle you … physically? I know you’re being your idea of gentle with me, even when you’re trying to hurt me. In spite of that, sometimes I can’t walk afterward – not without a list or a limp.”

“Yer just a tiny slip o’ a thing, slender an’ small. She had curves, built tougher, stronger – cornfed, maybe, hell I dunno. Didn’t hafta be so careful an’ she didn’t need me t’ be, or want me t’ be.”

“Tell me why you say she changed you? You could have just enjoyed her and left. Going by your reputation, I’d bet most people don’t get a second ‘date’.”

“Those freaks that were after ‘er, they kept comin’; it made me mad. I guess it got territorial at first. She made it like takin’ on a mate – instinct kicks in, protect tha mate. They kept us runnin’, tracked us, attacked tha safe house. It wasn’t much, just a li’l apartment, but it was tha closest at tha time an’ we had t’ go t’ ground. After that, I took ‘er t’ ‘nother place, a brothel I own outside tha city, ‘nother safe house.”

Tabitha felt caught between fear of him and horror for him and for the woman.  _He’s telling the truth, though – I can feel it._  “Did they track you there?”

“Yeah. I left ‘er with people I trust an’ went t’ go find ‘em, t’ take ‘em out. Gotta nasty shock, though – they weren’t wholly alive; they were like some kinda fuckin’ undead scientists.”

“Undead – like zombies? Zombies with an agenda and work ethic?”

“One o’ ‘em told me stuff, other bits I figured out by fightin’ ‘em. They had bodies like soldiers with military skills an’ even combat muscle memory, but they fought an’ talked like pencil neck labcoat assholes. They put their brains in undead soldier bodies t’ be harder t’ kill an’ so they’d survive their fuckin’ bioweapon plague. Just smellin’ ‘em, watchin’ ‘em move, thought I was goin’ mad – well, ya know…”

She couldn’t help a small smile. “I know.”

“Found out ‘bout tha infection they hit ‘er with, tried t’ get tha antidote.”

“There was a… What happened?”

“It got destroyed in tha fight when tha lab blew sky high. It coulda saved ‘er… I went back an’ they attacked us. She fought like a mad thing, even electrocuted one in tha tub when he came at ‘er. Hell, she shot one in tha face back at tha apartment. She was magnificent, didn’t even blink over me doin’ my level best t’ kill ‘em all night long. I had t’get inventive, but – they’re all-tha-way dead, now.”

“You said before … you had to break her neck… Why?”

“Told ya, it was gonna kill ‘er an’ then unleash some fuckin’ zombie disease. Tha clock just … ran out. She didn’t know, couldn’t tell ‘er. I held ‘er close an’ she clung t’ me like she never wanted t’ lemme go. Then I had t’ do it, t’ keep my promise. She said she wanted t’ go away with me – kept settin’ me back on my heels, that girl. That don’t happen t’ me much, neither.”

“She made you want to keep her, want to find a way to make it work?” The look he gave her made her heart hurt, but he didn’t answer. “That’s why you want this. She helped you realize you could want more and a taste of it showed you something new, something you didn’t know you could want. That’s what changed you. It was taken away too soon and now you don’t know how to go back to the way you were…” She stopped herself and swallowed slowly under his steady stare. “Is that what happened?”

“I know how t’ go back, girl. Prob is, I wanted t’ go forward an’ now goin’ back just feels restless an’ empty. I’m stuck an’ I can’t just plug ya int’ that – yer not ‘er. Yer terrified o’ me an’ ya hate me an’ I sure as hell gave ya plenty o’ reasons. Ya know, at first I just wanted t’ skin ya fer takin’ advantage o’ my brainless kitten self. Then yer moxy an’ yer heat – an’ tha way ya kept comin’ ‘round no matter what I did – got me thinkin’ ‘bout maybes.”

“In the Danger Room, I was feeling the same way. I was lonely, and yeah, horny. I was alone and so were you. I felt like garbage, like I’d never be good enough for what, or who, I wanted. Some of them only cared about locking you up, but others tried to help you change. It gave me hope.”

“They didn’t help squat from where I was sittin’, but … that’s a first – ain’t never inspired hope in any-fuckin’-body before.”

“They made me believe it could be possible and if that was true, maybe I could change, too. I shouldn’t have done what I did to you. I didn’t understand you then, at all, but I’m trying to now.”

“Gotta understand yerself first, darlin’.”

“What do you mean?”

“Yer asshole father bein’ an abusive drunken fuck ain’t yer fault an’ it don’t make ya trash. Growin’ up poor don’t make ya trash, neither.”

“You like calling me ‘white trash’, remember?” she teased.

“No, I like gettin’ a rise outta ya.”

“Can I talk to you about your parents?”

The glare was quick, but started to fade fast. “Keep it brief.” When she hesitated, he sighed and added, “Shoot.”

“The same goes for you. What they did wasn’t your fault. I understand it harmed your mind, probably every bit of you in ways I can never grasp. Can I ask … when it started?”

“I killed my older brother Luther over a piece o’ pie.” He snorted at her shocked look. “Wasn’t really ‘bout tha stinkin’ pie. I bloomed early as a feral; it hit before puberty, even though that wasn’t far behind, bein’ ahead o’ schedule, too. He had somethin’ I wanted an’ I didn’t have much restraint then, neither. He gloated, teased me ‘bout it. Feral mutant hormones like mine, rippin through me worse than a cat in heat? Didn’t go well.”

“Did you … get along at all, before that?”

“Nope.” Slouching lower, he leaned his head back to stare at the ceiling. “Ma walked in an’ screamed. My life was just over. Pa saw what I did, saw tha fangs an’ claws … mutants weren’t a thing then, with their marches an’ fightin’ fer rights shit.”

“That was when he put you in the cellar?”

“Yup. Pa said I had a devil in me, dragged me down t’ tha root cellar an’ tied me up, told ya all that.”

“Didn’t they have anyone come to see you? You said you had a doctor before –”

“Well he was six feet under not long before, thanks t’ me. Pa had t’ cover that up, near beat me ‘round tha clock fer it. I guess losin’ Luther, a pair o’ workin’ hands, made ‘im a touch more mad. He got tha preacher an’ tha priest, who tried t’ exorcise me. At first I was just a kid with fangs an’ claws, afraid in tha dark; didn’t understand it had become ‘bout my ‘devil’ more’n my dead brother. My Ma used t’ bring me milk in a bowl, but she refused t’ cut me loose.”

“So that’s why you hated me so much for that. I didn’t know. I’m sorry, Victor.” She pulled her legs up under her and smoothed her skirt. “If none of them knew what a mutant was then, I guess ‘possessed’ is what the morons would think. What year was this?”

“Bit more’n halfway through tha 1800s, give or take.”

“Sorry, I kind of forget that – you’re so, well … modern, most of the time.” She took a deep breath and let it out slow. “Victor, can I touch you? Sit with you? It’s a little cold down here.” When he opened an arm to her, she got up and curled up against him. He held her to him gently and she began to breathe again. “I must seem like such an idiot child to you.”

“Sometimes.” His finger hooked the chain around her neck and pulled the diamond free. He rolled it in his fingertips for a moment and then let it go. “Mostly, tha cape talk is more annoyin’.”

She placed her palm on his chest and snuggled into his warmth. “Is that when he – started to pull … with the, um… I don’t want to upset you again…”

He bent his head down and kissed her curls. “Told ya I’d tell ya shit if ya asked, but ya heard most o’ it before. Pa couldn’t get anybody t’ help cuz nothin’ worked. So he got his big ugly horse-pliers an’ started takin’ out my fangs an’ claws, one by one.”

Tabitha forced herself to slow her breathing, to stay calm.  _Avoid anything that sounds like pity, stick to questions and empathy apologies._  “How old were you?”

“I dunno, nine? Ten? He didn’t have a clue they’d grow back – neither did I. Every day Pa came down those steps with tha pliers an’ yanked ‘em out. Every night they grew back. He made Ma stop feedin’ me t’ punish me fer that.”

“So the healing factor got weaker…”

“It made him think he’d found a way. I nearly starved t’ death an’ when tha shit quit growin’ back, he thought he’d won tha fight. Couldn’t eat anyhow. Ya can’t imagine it…”

“I think I hate him, too. Worse than mine.” She turned her head to press a kiss to his chest through the suit jacket and then rested her head on him. “How did you figure out how you could … escape?”

His voice slipped out as a rasped whisper. “Ma couldn’t stand watchin’ ‘im torture an’ starve me. She started feedin’ me tha milk at night, sometimes even some bits o’ meat, scraps he wouldn’t notice an’ I could just swallow. I got better, but it just made tha fangs an’ claws grow back. When Pa came down an’ saw ‘em, he beat tha shit outta me an’ got tha axe. I got drug out t’ tha old log an’ he hacked both hands off at tha forearms before throwin’ me back in that hole.”

Tabitha shuddered. “They grew back,” she whispered.

“Took a bit, but they did, same as tha rest. I begged Ma t’ just kill me, kill me or cut me loose, but she wouldn’t do it. She believed in tha devil shit, I guess. So I lost my mind – dunno how long it all went on … two or three years, maybe. I suspect when I started chewin’ off tha hand, it was an animal thing; got no memory o’ choosin’ t’ do it. Pa found me loose an’ decided t’ kill me t’ save me, came at me with tha axe. Ma jumped in tha way, right when I leaped up t’ kill ‘im.” He shook his head. “Now that memory still sticks, but I dunno if I trust it.”

“Trust it? You said that Psi-Borg person fixed your memories and took out the fake ones.”

“Far as I know, but he’s also one o’ tha assholes that helped those Weapon X fucks jack my brain in tha first place.” A low growl thrummed under her ear.

Tabitha looked up. “Don’t do that,” she murmured and grasped his wrist gently where the claws had popped and pierced the jacket. She was afraid to look at the hand that was wrapped around her body. “Tell me the rest about your father. You told me you killed him.” She carefully meshed her fingers in his and watched the claws retract.

“He fell apart when he realized he killed her insteada me; if that was … real… I took my chance, either way. I made a mess. End o’ tha fuckin’ story.”

“You got away, though…”

“Crawled off t’ die more like, but couldn’t even do that right. Instinct made me grab some damn thing an’ eat it. I ate, so I healed. Was already stark-starin’ fucked up.”

“Did you have the hyper-senses then, too?”

“Yup. They showed up with tha pointy bits. Didn’t notice it at first, too jacked up an’ hurtin’. Started t’ realize I could hear ‘em comin’ from too far away. Spent nights listenin’ t’ mice an’ rats – even caught a few o’ tha li’l ones an’ ate ‘em. Night vision made me think I was bonkers, but hearin’ tha blood rushin’ in people’s veins – that was a stumper at first; didn’t know that was what I was hearin’. Scents were probly tha most confusin’ an’ hardest t’ learn, though. Never had a teacher fer that.”

“Once you escaped, you were still a child… How did you know where to go or what to do?”

“Wasn’t ‘nuff  o’ a person yet then t’ be thinkin’ ‘bout shit like that. I was pretty much a wild beast. Went on a rampage; told ya that when I turned thirteen I killed three lawmen, which happened across a big hunk o’ Canada. Healin’ factor did all tha fixin’ on my brains it could, I guess; slowly started t’ be a boy just in time t’ realize I wasn’t really a boy at all anymore. Lived in tha wild a long time an’ then started watchin’ people. Started learnin’ how t’ be more like ‘em, but never really could pass as one.”

“Were you still … killing people then?”

“Never stopped fer long. By then, I knew killin’ came easy. Killed my way up int’ tha Yukon, workin’ on tha railroad, told ya that. That Frenchman, he took a likin’ t’ me an’ taught me how t’ work that job. Learned how t’ at least fake bein’ a person with ‘is help. Wanted t’ keep outta tha jails, mostly. Wasn’t gonna let myself get stuck in a hole like that again. I’ve managed, fer tha most part. Chuck’s dungeon an’ my kennel with X-Factor were both a party compared t’ Pa’s.”

“Um, can I ask you a weird question?”

“Do ya ever ask a regular type one?”

“You said your father found slave chains and shackles – I didn’t know Canada had slavery?”

Victor snorted. “That’s tha skeleton in my homeland’s closet. Wasn’t nothin’ like tha American South, but it was here; tribal more’n anythin’ else, but some farmer types had ‘em. It was all abolished more’n thirty years or so before I was born, though.”

“Huh. Now I know.” Tabitha sat up. “Will you take off the jacket?”

“We gonna eat in tha nude, give tha staff a show?”

“They aren’t here yet.”

He sat up and yanked the jacket off, handing it to her. “Elevator dinged. Cart’s rollin’ down tha hall.”

“That has to be kind of awesome – the hyper-senses, I mean.” She pitched the jacket onto the other end of the couch.

“It don’t suck.”

She put a hand on his shoulder, rose up on her knees and leaned over him, ignoring the arching blonde eyebrow. “I’m sorry for dredging all that up, but thank you for telling me.”

“This tha part where ya remind me it don’t change all tha naughty bad I done?”

“Well … I’m sorry again, but it doesn’t. You kill people who aren’t trying to betray you too, and considering your career of villainy, I can kind of see their point when they try to stop you.”

His expressive lips lifted in a smirk around the fangs. She tried not to think about that horrid man yanking them out of the mouth of his child. “Yer sittin’ a wee bit close t’ be so frank, ain’t ya?”

“No reprisals, you promised.”

“I did?”

“Hush. I was going to say … it does help me understand you better, at least a little. No matter what you’ve done since, you can’t make me change my mind that it’s at least partly your father’s fault, for what he did to you.”

“A half-assed absolution is better than zip, huh?”

“Were you Catholic?”

“Hell, I dunno. Don’t think so. Hardly fuckin’ matters.”

“Have you ever gone to confession?”

“Yup, sometimes – whenever I hear ‘bout a priest diddlin’ kids, I go eat ‘im. Call it a hobby.”

A knock sounded on the door as a voice called through it that their dinner had arrived.

“Gonna lemme get that, darlin’?”

Tabitha sat back and let him stand. “So since I’m still ‘darlin’’ and not demoted back to ‘frail’, can we fuck after dinner?”

“I’m inclined t’ think there ain’t much frail ‘bout ya, Tabs – despite yer delicate li’l girl bones.” Turning to grin at her as he fixed his tie, he added, “Sure as hell gonna fuck ya.”

“Good.”

~ ~ ~

After an amazing fancy meal, during which Victor had proved he knew what silverware was for, Tabitha stood at the windows overlooking the harbor. She held a glass of some kind of wine she couldn’t pronounce while he was at the door tipping a steward. Two of them had served them during dinner as if they were in a restaurant, except that Victor had ordered the meal ahead of time.

To get more of the crazy view of the harbor, she stepped up onto the black steamer trunk Victor had hauled there. When she looked at the glass beside her, she could see his reflection in the window, watching her as soon as the door locked behind him.

“Wanna ‘nother snort?” he asked, crossing to pick up the bottle. When she shook her head no, he lifted it to his lips and finished it off, wiping his white shirt sleeve across his mouth.

He approached behind her so silently that watching him do so in the reflection seemed like her imagination. His huge hands, claws retracted, pressed against the glass on either side of her face. She remained still as he bent his head to scent and nuzzle her neck.

“Bedtime?” she whispered to the harbor below.

“No.” He took her glass, downed the rest of the wine and moved away to set it on the table. “Strip.”

Without bothering to ask any questions or fuss about it, she just began to obey. She watched him in the window as he shed his clothing, openly staring at the beautiful and impossibly large body as it was revealed. He was staring back as she shed her clothes and it made her skin flush. She left the diamond on for him, just to please him.

“I like tha blush, darlin’. Whatcha thinkin’ ‘bout?”

“The way you watch my body – I could get addicted to that.”

“Willin’ t’ give ya a shot at it.”

She shivered from the cold coming off of the glass as she kicked the pile of clothing off of the trunk. She intended to step down, but he stalked up behind her again and pressed himself into her back, pushing her front against the glass.

“It’s cold!” Her body instinctively tried to move back, but she knew she was trapped – right where she wanted to be.

*****************************************************************

Victor caught her hands and held them over her head, spread wide. His mouth moved back to her neck as he sniffed and nuzzled her again. He growled in lust when her scent spiked and her body grew wet with her heat.

“Spread yer legs an’ push yer ass back,” he ordered. “Don’t move those freezin’ li’l nipples.”

When she wimpered but simply obeyed, he began to purr against her skin. He shifted and let his cock fall from being trapped between their bodies. It bobbed at the shaved split of her vaginal lips. Moving forward, he sucked in his breath when the hooded head pressed into the cold glass. As he began to move, rubbing the long shaft up, back and forth against her, he felt it harden almost painfully as she made it slick. He felt the head push out as the hood went back.

“Oh, God, Victor…” She bit her lower lip, her breath frosting the glass. “Do you think … people can see?”

“Lucky bastards if they can.”

“Fuck me; my God, please fuck me…”

“Make me fuck ya. Make me so nuts I gotta push in.” When she started to move her head, he hissed in her ear. The animal sound startled and scared her, but it also made her body dump thick pheromones into the air. “Nipples don’t got permission t’ leave tha glass.”

“How can I…?” she began to ask, but then fell quiet. He could sense, scent, and feel the change in her as she understood what he wanted. “I want your mouth, Victor. Give me your teeth…”

Fear leaked into her heat and spiced her scent. It made his hips jerk. He put his mouth at the join of her neck and shoulder and began to kiss and lick at it. His purr returned, vibrating against her skin. He opened his mouth and let the four canine fangs pinch her flesh so gently that they didn’t yet break in. His hips continued to thrust.

Her chin moved down slightly and her gasp told him she was watching his cock smear pre-cum on the glass. “Victor, you need it, I need it. Let me feel them, please…”

His stomach tightened and a growl turned into a groan as the tips pierced her. He stopped, waited.

“More, bite me – bite me and fuck me…” She gasped again. “Below us, there are people on a balcony. They can see… I … I want them to see you fuck me. I don’t care if we smash through the fucking window. Harder, Victor…”

The moment his fangs slid in deeper, his hips jerked backward. He bent his long back, angled up and shoved his cock inside her. Her whole body moved, her nipples and palms scraping upward. He let her hands go and wrapped one arm around her thin waist, pulling her back into his chest. Dragging in a greedy breath as his tongue lapped at her blood, his free hand cupped her ass and lifted her feet off of the trunk.

He reveled in her scream and withdrew his fangs, setting his lips around the wounds, his tongue lashing over them. The shafts of the lower fangs pressed in, bruising her as he sucked at her flesh. The hand supporting her ass shifted and she cried out when a clawless finger pushed roughly into her anus.

One hand and his hips working her body up and down his cock, his encircling arm kept her off of the glass. Now and then her bent elbows struck it, but her hands had reached back and grabbed fistfuls of his hair, pulling at it until the band was torn out and it all fell around them like a curtain.

His mouth full of her blood, he fought the urge to bite again, his jaw trembling and aching to drop and seize her entire shoulder. He thrust harder and faster, forcing his body to finish before he lost the fight.

She screamed again when he came, the punch of his hips possibly hurting her. Pressing the flat of his tongue to the worst two punctures, he kept his lips clamped tight. Trying to remove the finger from her anus without dropping her or crushing her in his arm, he finally wrapped both arms around her and stumbled back from the window. Aiming for the couch, he managed to get there before he fell back, hauling her down and pinning her on top of him.

“Victor … I’m … sorry…”

His hips worked to grind his cock deeper in and out a few more times before he went still, sucking air desperately through his nose and drowning in the smell of it all. When he thought the bleeding might be slower, he released her flesh and licked lazily at all four puncture wounds.

Moving his lips to her ear, he purred in it from deep in his chest. “What tha hell ya sorry fer?” he asked. “Got me, didn’t ya? Got me good. Planned t’ make tha teasin’ last longer.”

“I … I didn’t mean to be afraid…”

His soft chuckle made her whole body shudder. “Not sure ya’d be sane if ya weren’t, babe. Ain’t like ya trust me, right? Ya got me so hot, it was hard t’ behave.”

“I’m not sure if I’m okay or not…” Her fear spiked. “I feel dizzy, cold … and … it really hurts.”

“Yer pussy or yer shoulder?” When she didn’t answer, he licked the outside of her ear. “Gonna pick ya up, try t’ be still.” She gasped when he stood and shifted her in his arms to disconnect their bodies. “Hot bath an’ bandages time.”

Her head rested against his chest as he carried her up the stairs. In the bathroom, he sat her gently on the counter and started pulling bandaging supplies out of the medicine cabinet. Obinata’s people had stocked everything to the letter.

“That’s going to scar,” she muttered. As he started cleaning the punctures, she winced and hissed. “A lot of your ‘marks’ are going to scar.”

“Just makes ya prettier t’ me.” He chose bandages that would hold up in the bath and then left her on the counter to start filling the tub.

“I still feel dizzy and yes, the pussy is sore, too – more than usual. Not that I’m wild about calling it that.”

He returned to her and raised an eyebrow when she lifted both hands to his pectorals and petted his fur. “I like callin’ it pussy. ‘Vagina’ sounds like somethin’ ya’d need penicillin fer t’ get rid o’ it. Fer tha dizzy, ya drank a lotta that wine an’ I drank a lotta yer blood. Got juice in tha fridge downstairs.”

“There’s a refrigerator?”

Victor smirked down at her. “Yeah, Miss Observant, there is – part o’ tha wet bar, technically.”

“This counter is hard and cold.”

“Just like me.” He flashed a grin at her. “Tub’s fillin’ fast.” He picked her up again and held her, turning to lean his ass against the counter.

“No, you’re warm … and soft. Can the juice have a painkiller in it – maybe a muscle relaxer?”

“Bleedin’ junky,” he teased. He ducked his head down and placed a chaste kiss on her forehead. “Once yer soakin, I’ll bring ya an RX cocktail.”

He placed her carefully in the tub in water not quite hot enough to scald. She yelped, but once her hips were in it, she gasped instead.

“Get comfy; I’ll join ya in a few with our refreshments. Don’t pass out an’ drown.”

~ ~ ~

Victor wasn’t sure if she fell asleep or if the pills knocked her out, but he made her drink all of the juice before he let her lay her head on his chest.

Before the water could get cold, he held her against him and got out. He managed to dry her off while she sat slumped on the closed toilet and then let her sit there asleep while he dried himself and his hair. He carried her to the bed and put her in it. Leaning over her, he set the diamond pendant in the hollow of her throat and bent low to kiss it. Setting a glass of water on her nightstand, he polished off his whiskey and then made a habitual sweep of the suite, turning off all the lights as he went.

When he got into the bed, he didn’t touch her. He could see her clearly in the dark room and knew she was asleep. He watched her face, framed by golden curls.

“Could try t’ protect ya,” he whispered, “try t’ keep ya … but ya’d never stop askin’ me t’ quit an’ sooner or later ya’d get stupid. Ain’t gonna allow ya t’ bring ‘em all down ‘round my ears. Had ‘nuff  o’ Cueball’s hospitality an’ ‘is ‘help’.”

She moaned and shifted in her sleep. Rolling over, she moved against him and cuddled close, probably after his body heat. One small hand rested on his chest. He pulled her into his side and closed his eyes.

_Maybe I can sever those last thin ties between ya. Or maybe it’ll all blow up in my fuckin’ face. Gotta roll tha dice an’ see._

~ ~ ~

Victor heard her get up by late morning. He stood in the door of the dressing room to watch her walk carefully to the bathroom and shut the door. Pulling on a black band t-shirt over undamaged jeans, he carried his heavy boots downstairs.

Their breakfast arrived by the time the girl got out of the bathroom. She appeared at the head of the stairs in a fluffy hotel robe and paused there, her scent betraying her anxiety. He went up to meet her. The steward and his assistant were setting up the table and getting ready to serve them.

“Mornin’, darlin’.” Without another word, he picked her up and carried her down. The steward pulled out her chair and Victor sat her on it.

“Uh, thanks…” Reading his shirt, she sighed. “Cannibal Corpse – is that ironic whimsy?”

“Said ya were surprised I’m int’ tha classics, figured me fer a Metal fan – thought I’d prove ya right. We’re goin’ out after breakfast, if yer up t’ it. Ya can grab a nap later if ya need one.” She didn’t answer and appeared to be nervous around the servers. After everything was set, he called them to the door. Handing them a generous tip, he ushered them out. “Ya can clean up after we leave, got all we need fer now.”

“Of course, Mr. Creed. Thank you, and good morning.”

Closing the door, he went back and took a chair at the head of the table facing the windows. Next to him, the girl took the cover off of her plate and smiled.

“This is a lot of food. Do you always eat like this? Oh my God, it smells delicious.”

“Need a lot o’ fuel t’ burn, whether it’s on a plate or on tha hoof. With shitheads always tryin’ t’ jack with me, smart money’s on a full tank. Anythin’ ya can’t eat, we can ship it t’ China if ya want; or I’ll just stuff it in my mug.”

“Thank you for sending them out.”

“Welcome, darlin’.” She started eating with gusto, making him snort in amusement. He popped claws to spear the slabs of ham on his plate, and then hestitated, fingers hovering over the silverware.

“Go ahead, be yourself. It doesn’t really bother me. I just like to get a rise out of you.” She winked and smiled before shoving another forkful of eggs into her mouth.

Snorting again, he speared the ham and wolfed it down. “Did I break ya anywhere?”

“I … don’t think so? I feel sore and stiff. My shoulder hurts more.”

“Gonna hafta watch that.”

“Um, how am I going to manage that?”

“Not ya, meant me. Can’t throw down like that if I expect ya t’ function next day.”

“You sound bummed about it.” She ate in silence a while longer and then sighed, her fork clinking on the plate. “I’m probably just too breakable for you. If you have to be careful all the time –”

“Lemme worry ‘bout that, babe. Won’t kill me t’ keep my fuckin’ teeth outta ya fer a bit.” Smirking, he added, “We can save it fer special occasions, like my birthday an’ Christmas.”

“It’s almost Christmas now; I didn’t even know that. When is your birthday?”

“Dunno, don’t really remember. Pick any date ya like in 1868.”

She started to eat again and tried not to stare as he dumped a lake of syrup over his pancakes. “Where were you born?”

“Edmonton, in Alberta, Canada.” He offered her the syrup boat, but she shook her head, so he tipped it to his mouth and drank the rest. “Ya were born in Roanoke, Virginia.”

“Ah … yes. Did some research, huh?”

“Yup. Want me t’ kill yer folks fer ya?”

“No…”

Victor shrugged. “No harm in makin’ tha offer, babe.”

She picked up a piece of bacon and wagged it at him. “That’s the third time you’ve called me ‘babe’.”

Talking around a mouthful of pancake, he narrowed his eyes at her. “Prob with that?”

“No. I sort of like it. Is that another one you ‘call a lot of skirts’, or is it just for me?”

Swallowing, his lips stretched into a toothy grin. “Yer tha only one ‘round, ain’t ya?”

“So if I start calling you ‘Vic’, without the sarcasm, are my parts going to stay attached?”

“Sure, babe.”

“Okay, then.” She grinned at him and bit the bacon with mock savagery.

“Keep that up, yer likely t’ get fucked again. Got an appointment set up, rather not miss it.”

“For the job?”

“Fer yer shoppin’. Places I’m takin’ ya, it ain’t as much fun if ya just walk in off tha street. They got yer sizes, gotta sales girl ready t’ treat ya like a queen.”

“Wow. Cool… Are they going to call me Mrs. Creed?” she winked at him.

“Nope, but they know yer my lady. In that part o’ town, that pretty much hands ya tha keys t’ tha fuckin’ city.”

After breakfast, he carried her upstairs again and then sat on the couch in the dressing room while she dug out some clothes.

“Fancy? Or … what?”

“Warm an’ comfy. Gonna do some walkin’ ‘round tha shops.” The moment she took off the bathrobe, he growled appreciatively, admiring his marks on her. “Bring that thing over here,” he ordered.

Still holding a pair of panties, she obeyed, standing in front of him when he slid down to sit on the floor. “Are we about to be late?”

Fingers on her hips, he scented her and grinned. “This won’t take long. Spread ‘em.” Her hands slapped down on his shoulders as he began to lick and suckle her pussy. He ignored his dick. “Fuck me runnin’, ya taste so fuckin’ good…” He made her come twice before her legs turned to rubber, and then he licked her clean. Taking the panties, he held them out for her. She held onto his shoulder as she stepped into them.

“You are something,” she whispered. “How that sandpaper tongue can make it even better boggles the brain.” Her body shivered as he slowly dragged the panties up her legs.

“Look how that lace nestles right up against that thing. If reincarnation exits, I’m comin’ back as yer fuckin’ underwear, girl.” She giggled and it made him smirk. Staying on the floor, he looked up at her as she gathered most of his long hair into her hands.

“The curling goldilocks hair is insane, you realize that. Women would kill for this. Don’t get me started on your eyelashes. It just isn’t fair. Do you … think I’m pretty? Or are you just in it for the sex?”

“Told ya a coupla times that yer easy on tha eyes. I ain’t a man just burstin’ with tha flowery talk, Tabs. Might hafta take how often I gotta fuck an’ suck ya as yer flowery.”

“I’ll take it.”

“Thought ya might.” He started to purr when she bent down to kiss him, but he broke the kiss first. “Put clothes on or we ain’t gettin’ outta here fer a week.”

She let his hair fall and smiled.

~ ~ ~

Victor sat in a huge armchair in the biggest boutique they’d been in yet. Leaning back with arms crossed, he watched her each time she came out to show him something she’d tried on.

They’d had lunch in a swanky Japanese steakhouse and Victor had let her do most of the talking. He wanted to watch her, lost in thought and distracted for most of the shopping, too, as they left bags at stores to be sent to the hotel. It had taken her a while to realize that she didn’t have to choose what he would buy; if she liked it, it was bought.

When they went out to the Bugatti again and got in, she was wearing one of the new outfits. Leaning over to kiss him before buckling up, she smiled at him. “Thank you, Victor. Wearing jeans and a shirt that cost more than my stepmother’s car is a totally new experience.”

“I see ya liked tha Prada boots ‘nuff  t’ want yer own.”

“Yeah, well, they’re awesome. Where to now?”

“Stanley Park.”

After they left the car and headed off down a path in the beautiful 1,000 acre park, he paused and offered her his hand. Tears filled her eyes as she took it and then they walked on, holding hands.

“Used t’ run in here at night. Sometimes I’d lay out at tha treeline at one o’ tha beaches an’ watch tha stars.”

“What, no murder and mayhem?”

“Natch, a man’s gotta eat. After that, he prefers t’ relax an’ digest. Tourists are like gobblin’ fast food – even if they ain’t that fast runnin’ in tha woods.”

“I’m never sure when you’re pulling my leg or not.”

“If it makes ya feel better, pretend I’m jokin’. Come on, this way.”

He steered her onto a path that lead into the trees. He could hear the brook before she saw it. They walked up onto the bridge that spanned it and he stopped. Letting her hand go, he took her in his arms and kissed her. Turning her to face the brook and forest, he pulled her back into him and wrapped his arms around her waist.

“What are these trees?”

“Cedar, fir, an’ hemlock. Wanted t’ build custom furniture fer a while, but never really gotta chance t’ try. Busy, busy.”

“Is that a joke?”

“Nope. Don’t get any ideas ‘bout it though. Contract murder is my dream job.”

“Will you run in the woods with me? I’ve never done that. Not unless I was being chased.”

Victor grinned. “Gotta say, I could offer t’ chase ya.” He kissed her curls. “Ya might not be spry ‘nuff  t’ go fer a branch-jumpin’ jog, though.”

She sighed. “Probably not. I just bet it feels like … freedom.”

“Ya don’t gotta be a captive, ya know.”

“You made it pretty clear what my ‘choice’ was. ‘Girlfriend or death’ doesn’t make me feel very free.”

“What would ya do if I let ya go … an’ didn’t hunt ya down? Never mind Chuck an’ his flyin’ monkeys comin’ t’ make me pay or some shit. What would ya do?”

“Well, I wouldn’t get far unless I went back to stripping for a while first.”

“Hardee har. Let’s say I paid ya an’ cut ya loose… Same question.”

“I … don’t know. Go somewhere warm? I hear Hawaii’s nice all times of the year.”

“I gotta safe house in Lahaina, Hawaii. Bought it fer nearly $11 million. 9,761 square feet o’ mind-fuckin’ modern luxury right on tha ocean. Tha livin’ room’s gotta pool an’ waterfall in it, plus tha outside pool. Lotsa tha walls are glass an’ slide int’ tha solid walls t’ turn rooms indoor or outdoor.” Smirking down at her when she stared up, wide-eyed, he added, “I like my creature comforts, but I ain’t no indoor kitty.”

“Um, can we go there after this job? I could just mow the grass for you or whatever.”

“After this job, I gotta fly t’ Nepal an’ then make stops all over. Duty calls.” He let her go and turned her to face him, his hands on her arms. She placed her hands over his ribs. “I could send ya there; ya could wait fer me.”

“Is that an offer – a real choice? Or can I just get paid and go wherever I want?”

Sighing, he looked off into the trees. “Ya like Brys, at least, don’t ya?”

“Y-yes… Why?”

“Cuz if ya tell Cueball where that house is, ‘im an’ Perrin would probly get dead.”

“I wouldn’t tell them anything about it, but the X-Men aren’t killers.”

“So tha authorities get a look at tha oubliette, where they live, got their prints in tha room, an’ ya think they’d let ‘em walk? Plus, tha boys would fight, make no mistake. They’d turn on tha defenses an’ tha house would whack a lotta cops, or even a spandex monkey or two. Dead or prison.”

“Victor, I won’t tell them. I like this side of you way better, don’t get me wrong – but you order me around and expect to be obeyed; that’s not really my scene. I’m always at risk of dying, if you mean me harm or not. I don’t really want to be anyone’s pet pussy – especially not if he’s off paying the property taxes by horrifically murdering people for fun while leaving me alone in a gilded cage.”

His ears pinned as he growled in frustration, irritated that he couldn’t muster the balls to just slash her throat right then. He glared down at her but she was looking up at him with an open, honest expression. Her fear stink was barely there.

“What are you thinking, Victor?”

“Thinkin’ ya smell too fuckin’ good t’ cut yer throat right now.”

“Was Bonnie your prisoner?”

He let her go as if she’d burned him and walked off the bridge. “Nope. She wasn’t no fuckin’ useless X-chump, neither.” Victor twitched in surprise when she jogged to catch up and grabbed his hand again. The claws slid out, but she just shifted her fingers and didn’t let go. He stopped. “What’re ya fuckin’ doin’?”

Tabitha held his hand and leaned against his back. “I want this time with you. I do. Victor, please…”

“Tha orders – that’s just how I am when I’m my own damn boss.”

“When you’ve had a boss and they gave orders and had you under their thumb, I know you had to of hated that.”

“Yup.”

“I’m used to orders, kind of – in the field, with a team. I’m not used to it in the bedroom. I haven’t balked much because you terrify me when you’re angry, but that doesn’t mean I like it, any more than you ever have.”

“Ya wanna take a stab at callin’ tha shots? If it don’t fuck with my bottom line?”

“Um … anytime I defy you even a little bit, you start to get murderous.”

“Do ya know why?”

“You’re the captor, I’m the captive. Simple.”

“Simpler than that.”

“Okay… I’m listening.”

“I’m an alpha; it’s peckin’ order. Ya get uppity, it feels like a challenge t’ me, so instinct seeks t’ put ya back in yer place. Anytime I ain’t been tha alpha, like with Sinister, that’s cuz he won when I tried t’ challenge ‘im.”

“Oh. Well … I’d have thought you could take him.”

“Not fuckin’ likely. That bastard can’t be wounded, ‘is body just remakes itself – he don’t even feel no pain. He can turn off my healin’ factor on a whim an’ hurt me plenty, an’ while we never had an arm wrestle, my money ain’t on me. So it’s always ‘yes, sir’ an’ slink off if I can. My best defense is bein’ so fuckin’ obnoxious he decides t’ bench me. Then when he ain’t home, out tha fuckin’ cat door I go. If I got tha choice, I stay tha fuck away from tha freak.”

“I have every confidence in your ability to be obnoxious.” Taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly, she let his hand go and walked around him to face him. “So you’ve been in my shoes; you know what it’s like. You know you’re not giving me even a shred of a choice, here. Without that, I can’t choose to stay. I can’t live that way – and the more you make me, the less I care if you have to kill me to keep me.”

“Can ya find yer way back t’ tha car?” At her blank look, he pointed. “That way, stay on this path. Wait fer me there.”

“Where are you going?”

“Gonna go on a run fer a bit, clear my head. If yer still waitin’ when I get there, I’ll let ya take tha reins t’night.”

“I’m … not sure I can handle another round like last night.”

“Got somethin’ in mind ya might like, then. If ya get lost, holler; I’ll hear ya.”

He turned and leapt off the path into the trees. He bounded away on all-fours faster than any human could run, leaving her scent and hopefully his confusion and frustration behind him. Not bothering with stealth, he crashed through the light underbrush, scattering small animals in his wake.

At a giant tree on the edge of another stream, he stopped. Pressing his back to it, he slid into a slump, his boots crunching on branches and snowy leaves. After a breath, he turned and climbed up the trunk to straddle a thick limb.

_I almost hope she runs fer it. Maybe I shoulda given her tha fuckin’ keys._

He thought about killing her and images of the runt’s bitch came to mind. Growling, he hissed and then threw his head back and roared, sending every wild creature that flew, ran, or crawled into a panic. The loud clatter of birds sounded through the trees around him and he watched them break through the canopy. They wheeled and darted, came together and then streaked apart and flew away. He watched them go as his ears moved, twitched, and rose.

 _Sonovabitch… Am I really gonna do this shit?_  Growling low under his breath, he muttered, “Aw, fuck it.”

~ ~ ~

She was leaning on the car and shivering in her overcoat when he walked up. It was starting to get dark.

“Where are we goin’ fer dinner, Tabs?”

“I don’t … have a clue. Can we get in the car, please?”

“Yer tha boss.”

“I’m afraid to ask.”

Victor laughed. “Just keep one thing in mind, babe – ya asked fer this. Gettin’ a taste o’ bossin’ ‘round tha King o’ Mean, yer likely t’ see soft li’l underbelly parts o’ me ya never thought existed.” He winked at her as he started the car. “I’m told tha powertrip’s as addictin’ as fuck, too.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone for reading, please do review, I love to hear from you. Naughty Victor has probably just added another chapter to this, too. I know I take forever, my apologies – I still plan to finish all of my WIP stories. I also need to run edits on them and on my completed works, too, before I can start to post them all here. (@MET_Fic) - AnonGrimm


	11. Beta

What’s wrong with me?  
Why do I feel like this?  
I’m going crazy now

No more gas in the rig, can’t even get it started  
Nothing heard, nothing said, can’t even speak about it  
On my life, on my head, don’t wanna think about it  
Feels like I’m going insane, yeah

It’s a thief in the night to come and grab you  
It can creep up inside you and consume you  
A disease of the mind it can control you  
I feel like a monster, oh

Throw on your brake lights, you’re in the city of wonder  
Ain’t gonna play nice, watch out you might just go under  
Better think twice, your train of thought will be altered  
So if you must falter, be wise

Your mind’s in disturbia, it’s like the darkness is the light  
Disturbia, am I scaring you tonight?  
Disturbia, ain’t used to what you like  
Disturbia, disturbia, disturbia

~ Disturbia (Rihanna)

*****************************************************************

One lone slice was left in the pizza box in front of her. After getting through only two slices, Victor had pushed the box across the table closer to her.

“I’ll leave tha rest o’ tha kill t’ ya.”

“I can’t date a man who doesn’t share my love of junk food, dude.”

“Better call National Geographic if ya ever bring a bag o’ Cheetos ‘round me, cuz they’d wanna film that shit. Never been a fan o’ greasy pizza.”

“Do you want something else?”

“Nope. Wanna watch tha tube while ya finish – ya mind?”

“Um, no… Go ahead.”  _So far, this ‘in charge’ stuff is just weird as hell._

After the valet had taken the car away, she had nervously tested this newest insanity he’d dreamed up about her calling shots by telling him she’d like to walk along the street the hotel was on to look at the Christmas decorations. She’d offered her hand and he’d taken it, strolling along for all the world like her over-sized mutant boyfriend.

 _The way he keeps watching me is nerve-wracking, though. I don’t buy this bullshit of me being the boss one bit – but…_ She sipped her Dr. Pepper and sighed. The city stroll and the walk in the park had made her heart ache for things she couldn’t have. The power, money, strength and ferocity of the man were intoxicating when she wasn’t the one he was intimidating.  _I have_ _to remember that it_ _’s just a matter of time before he seriously injure_ _s me – whether he mean_ _s to or not._

Tabitha got up from the table when she finished her soda, abandoning the last slice. Not sure what to do next, she went to sit by him on the couch. He was watching  _Full Metal Jacket_  in his t-shirt and jeans, his hair still in the ponytail. He’d ditched the boots even before the coat, and adamantium claws glinted on his toes. The finger claws were retracted. She’d never had the guts to ask about things like that. Maybe now was a good time to start.

 _There are going to be limits to this, but will he tell me what they are before I cross them? Hell, this is probably just another game to him_ _, but he seems to seriously want me to boss him around?_  The idea made her shudder and insisting on pizza delivery had been the extent of her attempts since they returned to the suite.  _Got to admit, though – watching him eat pizza with those fangs in his way was a trip._

The tension between them was palpable, but she didn’t know how to interpret it. She knew she was nervous; it seemed impossible that he could be.

 _That leaves stuff like frustration, irritation … because I haven’t really tried anything bossy. Shit. Talk, Tab, do something, geez._ For a moment, a loneliness that stole her breath crept up to form a lump in her throat.  _If he was Sam, I’d know what to do._  Frowning, she pushed the thought away.  _He isn’t Sam, he’s Victor Creed. Yeah, he’s scary, but he’s also hot as hell and can out-fuck anybody._  Holding back a sigh, having already noticed his eyes flick over to her more than once, she steeled herself to jump in.  _You’re lonely and horny, Tab_ _– time to roll the dice._  “I’ve never seen this, is it good?”

“R. Lee Ermey makes it good, but tha gore is silly.”

“Okay… I would think you’d like that.”

“See? Look – bodies ain’t got that much blood in ‘em an’ it don’t spray like a firehose. It’s funny when Monty Python does it, but this is ‘sposed t’ be a serious drama.”

Tabitha smiled. “You sound like Cable, griping about how the guns never run out of ammo in movies.”

“Yeah, that’s obnoxious, too. Hard not t’ count tha shots, I do it all tha time. ‘Course, some movies, I lived through tha topic – those are hard t’ watch at all unless they get ‘em right.”

“Um, what did you want to do tonight? I mean, in bed? You said you had an idea or something in mind that would be easier on me?”

He turned his head and watched her long enough to make her squirm. “Set it all out on tha couch in tha dressin’ room. Use what ya want, it’s yer rodeo, darlin’.” He looked back at the huge screen that had been hidden over the wet bar. “When ya wanna go up, lemme know. If ya wanna not fuck, say so. Ya know what I want, but we’re playin’ couple an’ yer wearin’ tha pants t’night.”

“I don’t not want to … but I’d like to cuddle awhile first, maybe make out like teenagers again?”

“Want tha tube off?”

“Ah...”

He picked up the remote and handed it to her. “Seen it a hundred times. Live a li’l, Tab. Gimme a few orders; turn ‘bout’s fair play, right? I’m an impatient alpha bastard by nature – but willin’ t’ play along.”

Drawing in a breath, she took the remote and turned the movie off. “Make out with me, sweet and gentle. Um … like a boyfriend.”

She almost leaned back away from him when he turned his body to face her. It was like watching a switch get clicked in his brain. His arm along the back of the couch moved and drew her in, nearly into his lap. Shirtless was almost always better on him, but now it had extra appeal, because the hideous art of the Death Metal band on his t-shirt was hard to ignore.

“Lose the shirt,” she whispered.

Tabitha did lean back as he sat forward and stripped it off, tossing it in a wad on the coffee table. She cuddled up and explored his chest and abs with her hand as he bent his head down to kiss her. She responded warmly in a few moments, surprised all over again that he could be so gentle and make it sweetly hot.

Breaking the kiss to watch his face as her finger played with a nipple, she smiled at the catch of his breath. Darting a peek down at the jeans, she saw them start to swell.

“You’re as easy to get going as I am.”

“We’re easy, Tabs, plain an’ simple. Sex is fun.”

She bent down to suckle the nipple and paused when he hissed. “Is that okay?”

“Can’t help tha critter noises, babe – feels good. Ya oughta know by now, not all o’ ‘em mean bad stuff.”

Meeting his gaze, she swallowed. “I feel like I’m trying to jump rope using a cobra.”

Victor chuckled. “Lemme worry ‘bout mindin’ my pointy bits. Ya already figured out how t’ keep yer tongue in one piece in my mouth. Do whatever ya want t’ me. I put a whip on tha couch upstairs – not like a nip suck is gonna turn me int’ a killer.”

“Okay… Um, yikes.” She moved to sit on his lap and let him kiss her again, his arms circling her in a loose hold. When she had a chance to come up for air, she whispered, “It’s nuts what an amazing kisser you are. I can feel that monster stretching your jeans under my ass, but you kiss like you could do it forever and all with that hungry focus on your face. You’re just – fucking gorgeous.”

His thrumming purr startled her, but his reply made her lean back and stare at him. “Ya know I could really fall fer ya, don’t ya?”

“Well … if we’re playing ‘couple’, wouldn’t you have already done that? As play, I mean?”

He leaned in to touch her forehead with his. “Ain’t playin’ ‘bout that.”

Tabitha couldn’t answer. She didn’t want to know if he was just acting. She lifted his head with a fingertip under his chin and brushed feathery kisses up both of the long lower fangs.

“Shit, girl…”

“What?”

“Love that.”

“Open your mouth – can you drop your jaw down like you do? I – I want to see it.” The look he gave her was almost … worried. “I won’t touch them,” she whispered. “I hate that he did that to you, Victor.”

“Can’t always control those instincts,” he muttered.

“I know. Please?”

She watched the movement, partly hidden under the mutton chop sideburns. A rounded thing under his skin, probably bone, pushed out slightly under his earlobe and then moved down and the lower jaw opened wide, the bottom fangs no longer pointing up on either side of the end of his nose. The sharp carnassials and the serrated inner edge of the lower fangs fascinated her, but she knew she shouldn’t push this for long.

Tabitha put her hand on the side of his face, over the fur, and then the other hand gently touched the twin bunched muscles that stood out on the sides of his neck when his jaw was down. She didn’t know why, but he was looking up at the ceiling. She decided to leave him alone about that.

“I never thought about how you do this,” she whispered. “Is that for slashing deer and stuff?” His eyebrow arched high and she muttered, “Oh, sorry.” She pressed her fingers against him a fraction more and smiled to feel it work as he brought his jaw back up. The lethal fang tips rose up over the lower part of his face again.

His eyes looked at her. “Can’t talk with it down like that, an’ yeah – deer an’ stuff.”

“I had this insane idea of seeing if my whole head would fit, but I think I’ll pass.”

He smirked at her. “Most o’ it would. How quick they forget...”

“So how are you able to roar and make those crazy noises the way you do? Some people can mimic a lion, but it sounds like a person making lion noises. You don’t.”

“This would be a lot faster if I just let ya at Google fer half an hour. Type in ‘roarin’ cats’.”

Tabitha wilted a little. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. Ask whatever tha hell ya want. Helluva lotta my anatomy ain’t that close t’ human at all – other bits are an evolutionary grab bag. Got ossified an’ flexible hyoid bones in my throat; they support tha tongue an’ lemme make diff’rent sounds. Tha flexible thing’s an elastic ligament, can’t pronounce what it’s called, ‘epi’-somethin’ – that’s what lets me roar. Tha other ossified part makes tha purr, cuz tha bone vibrates. Guess tha mutant gene couldn’t just pick one.”

“How do you know all the science stuff? Google?” She winked at him.

“Sinister, mostly. He had me in ‘is lab quite a few times, but if ya don’t mind, I’d rather skip jawin’ ‘bout that.”

“Deal. Dueling hyoid bones and ligaments. Cool.”

“Plus, flatscans tryin’ t’ roar an’ shit, they’re speakin’ gibberish t’ other felines. Me an’ tha snow leopard understand each other just fine.”

“You can talk to house cats, then?”

“Yeah, but feral critters got way more stuff t’ communicate with than sounds, though.”

She leaned in and stared into his eyes. “Oh, wow.”

He recoiled slightly. “What?”

She didn’t answer right away, but sat up straighter on his lap and held his face firmly. She’d never had the guts to really stare at his eyes up close. The amber glow wasn’t a blank orb of light like a flashlight. Beneath the luminescence was a black pupil, oval and pointed like a cat’s-eye slit. Around it, an amber iris that looked nothing like a human eye began to move, darting the slit of pupil slightly from side to side. There was no white to the eye; the whole orb that she could see was iris and pupil. As she watched, the slit started to widen.

With a little gasp, she leaned back and moved her hands to his furry chest. “I’m sorry, I … I never noticed before.” Now that she knew, she could pick them out more easily and watched as they contracted again to narrow slits. “I liked your blue eyes, but … um… They’re beautiful.”

His gaze dropped away from hers and he took a deep breath and let it out slow.

“Victor, I’m sorry, if that – bothered you.”

His eyes closed. “Didn’t… Kiss me,” he whispered.

Tabitha sucked in a breath and kissed his soft lips. He deepened it, his arms holding her closer. One hand slipped up the back of her shirt, the fingers poised on the bra catch.

She smiled into his kiss and whispered, “Yes, I think … we need to be naked pretty soon.” The bra snapped open and she balanced on his lap as he put his palms over her freed breasts before reaching down to pull her shirt and bra off of her. When he play-batted at her diamond like a kitten, she smiled and softly smacked his fingers away from it. “You can be such a goof. It’s a bit of a shock, but kind of awesome.”

“If ya wanna see me be a serious goof, lemme take ya t’ see  _Spamalot_  in tha Big Apple.”

Leaning back again as his arm circled to brace her, she giggled. “Sounds like fun. Hey, I bet if we pop that buttonfly, your dick might spring out like a snake-in-a-can. Does he miss me?”

“He’s hopin ya want ‘im.”

“I want to play with him, but now I’m really curious about what else might be on that other couch upstairs.”

“Say tha word, babe.”

“Let’s go.”

He picked her up off of him and set her on her feet. When she headed for the stairs, he rose and followed. She climbed enough of them to be equal to his height and turned to face him.

“Strip. Only naked people get to go upstairs.”

His grin stretched as he sheathed his claws and worked open the jeans. The curve of the shaft did push its way out and the rest sprang free when he hooked the belt loops and dragged them down. Stepping out of them, he stood in front of her, back straight and proud.

Tabitha sat on a step and held one of her boots up. “Help a girl out?”

Victor moved in, one hand under her calf, and gently pulled the boot off and stripped away the sock. His mouth kissed her instep, making her gasp. She felt her panties grow even damper when he did the same to the other foot. She opened her button and zipper and scooted with a hop to get them off her ass. He gripped the hems and slowly pulled them off her legs.

“Really wanna eat that.”

“Oh, hell yeah.” She watched him sink to all-fours and stalk-creep up the stairs to her. “Cut the panties off with your teeth.”

His hard cock struck her leg when he lowered himself to obey. She felt the needle-sharp thick upper fangs slip between her skin and the lace.

“Holy shit…”

The fangs hooked the edge and he moved his head back to pull the panties out away from her body. Then the lower jaw snapped, the larger bottom fangs piercing from below and the lace just disintegrated in a slash. A turn of his head cut the side strap and then his mouth was on her and she spread her legs for him shamelessly.

His palm stroked over her lower belly, the fingers flexed back to keep the shining claws away from her. Staring down at it, she felt a flush of embarrassment at the slight mound there.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, looking up at her.

“Nothing… Um, trying to eat – food – like you do is starting to make me gain some pounds. Wasn’t it your job to keep me fit and trim?”

The sound he made was like a chuckle and a purr fighting for dominance. His tongue slipped out and licked her belly. “Probly just bloaty from all tha greasy pizza after I been feedin’ ya real food fer nearly a bloody month. Don’t bother me none; I like it.”

“Works for me. I usually double-down on the crunches after New Year’s. I swear I won’t get fat.” The chuckle won the fight, but she didn’t bother to ask what was funny, afraid the joke would be on her.

“Promises, promises…”

“How about a carry up the stairs? Kind of rough on the back here…”

Still chuckling, he moved to pick her up and held her against him as he went up to the loft level. He set her on her feet at the foot of the bed. “Want me t’ explain all tha toys next door?”

“Ah, no… You stay here, sit on the bed. I’ve seen some of your toys already on a Nancy Drew snoop.” Amused at his playful mood when he sat at the end of the bed and smirked at her, she stood between his knees and kissed him. “I’ll be back in a bit. Behave.”

She walked off into the dressing room and stared at the black couch. The whip was a leather cat-o-nine, its handle polished wood in a shape that could only have one other purpose. The lashes were knotted. Quite a collection of other things were spread next to it, but she didn’t notice them after she saw the leather harness. Stuck through a metal ring in the front panel was a frighteningly thick foot-long black dildo toy. The other side of it was thinner and curved and she knew that was for her.

“Shit,” she whispered. The thought of it started a nervous excitement fluttering in her belly, but the idea scared her, too.  _What if I do it wrong, hurt him, and then he shreds me?_  Biting her bottom lip, she reached out and touched the harness.  _This is his, it was probably in that cabinet, so he packed it. Wow… He packed that, for a trip with me. Okay, Tab … the self-described impatient bastard is waiting. Decide and figure it out._

She picked it up, realized it didn’t look that complex, and then swallowed hard. With trembling fingers, she began to put it in place, blushing when the inside end popped inside her wet pussy. The monsterous dildo, now her surrogate cock, bobbed obscenely in front of her. Making it wag or bounce moved the part inside and she made a quiet noise of pleasure. Blushing again when she remembered he could hear it, she tightened the straps down a bit more. Thanks to her stint as a stripper in thongs, the back strap between her buttcheeks wasn’t too annoying.

Hand hovering over the rest, she picked up the whip and a riding crop, and stared when she noticed the leather of one of his wide black belts placed among the choices in a neat coil. Its heavy steel buckle was a skull like a biker would wear, but the skull had fangs. She knew exactly what that rough leather would feel like lashing over bare skin. She’d been raised with it. Feeling her blush start to go pale, her stomach dropping, she turned away from it with a shudder and faced the open doorway.

Walking was as weird as hell. She tried to look sexy, wondering what powerful sex dungeon women felt like, but feeling mostly foolish and self-conscious. When she reached the bedroom and saw how he looked at her, she froze, surprised. It wasn’t a smirk or a grin and he wasn’t chuckling at her.

He stared, but it wasn’t predatory. She remembered how he’d described Perrin and thought,  _Eager… He wants this, wants to be hurt, and he’s… Holy shit, how do I do this?_  “Victor?” she asked, hating how her voice cracked.

“Come here, Tabitha.” He held his hands out to her and all the claws were sheathed. His hair was still banded at the nape of his neck and his soft lips were unable to hide the terrifying lower fangs.

She felt tears prick her eyes as she moved to take his hands, realized she was still holding things to hit him with and nearly started to cry.

He took them from her and set them off to one side. Taking her hands, he pulled her up to him, the heavy dildo striking his muscled thigh and sliding up it as he wrapped her in arms that could throw a car.

“I’m sorry,” she gulped out, and the tears started to fall as her fear rose and he’d know and there was nothing she could do about it.

“Shhh… Hush babe,” he whispered.

The soft voice and gentle touch just made her cry harder. “I want to do what you want, I want to please you … but I don’t know if I can hurt you… I do know that I – I don’t want to hurt you…”

He moved her back to kiss her lips and then pressed their foreheads together again. “Not used t’ hearin’ that; most folks are into it fer their own reasons.”

“Please don’t make jokes like you think you’re not worth any better than that…”

“Ya sayin’ ya think I am worth better than that?” His finger rose and the smooth pad of the wide fingertip brushed at her tears. “Ya forgettin’ ya hate me?”

“I don’t think I do … anymore – even though I should. I’m just scared I’ll mess up and get hurt…” She sniffed and tried to calm down. “Victor… Please don’t hurt me, please don’t…”

“Not gonna, babe. Ya don’t gotta use those if ya don’t want. That’s part o’ bein’ tha boss an’ makin’ tha decisions.”

“You want it,” she whispered.

“Yeah, but we need a special bit o’ fun fer other times, don’t we? Lessee, I get t’ bite ya on my birthday, but ya gotta pick when that is, cuz I ain’t gotta clue. Already had my Christmas nibble, near enough. We can save beatin’ my ass in bed fer Valentine’s day or somethin’, since it’s so romantic. Whattaya think?”

She burst into a nervous crying laugh. “You’re bonkers, you know that?”

“Yup, I know that.” He held her tighter and let her rest her head on his chest. “Can’t really explain it without seriously killin’ tha mood, here – but that stuff is sexy t’ me.” He huffed out a breath. “If I can mind tha teeth, I can hold off on that. Willin’ t’ give ya time, babe.”

“Maybe I could work up to trying it, for you? I just … spent my whole childhood being beaten; it’s hard to see it as … sexy… I’m sorry…”

“Cut it, don’t need t’ be sorry; yer tha boss.” He wiped more tears and she kissed the finger when it moved over her lips. “Def like yer cock, though; ya look fuckin’ adorable with that thing hangin’ down.”

“I have no idea how to use it; I was so terrified I’d fuck up and hurt you, and you’d…”

“I can coach ya. No reprisals, I promised.”

“You did?”

“I am, now. My slut ass has had Sinister’s freaksome horse dick stuffed up it; that soft, squishy toy ain’t gonna hurt me none.”

“Can it be … nice, though?”

“Yup.” He leaned forward, nudging her with his chest to get her to step back and studied her. “Wanna keep ya, Tabitha – but I want ya t’ stay cuz ya want t’ be with me. I dunno how t’ make that happen without force an’ threats – an’ yer right, I am tha poster boy fer trust issues. If ya think there’s a snowball’s chance in hell ya could want t’ be my mate … I’m willin’ t’ learn from ya how t’ get ya t’ wanna stay.”

“Victor … you aren’t … mentally or emotionally … well,” she whispered. “You know you aren’t…”

Those luminous amber eyes dropped away from her again, his head turning away as his embrace went lax. “I know that.”

“Can we take it day by day, maybe? Without making big promises, and just … see how long we can make it last? That’s how ‘couple’ works…”

“Might hafta decide before too long.”

“What’s the rush? I’m twenty-three and you’re probably immortal.”

He shook his head and sighed. “Nothin’. Want ya t’ decide on yer own.”

“Do you think you could really love me, Victor?”

“Babe, no lie, I’m fuckin’ terrified o’ that. Just … wanna keep ya.”

“Why terrified?” she whispered. She wished he would look at her, but he was staring down at the diamond on her chest.

“Ain’t in tha cards fer me t’ have nice things, guess ya could say. Everytime I try, it falls apart or blows up in my fuckin’ face. All carin’ ‘bout somebody’s taught me is that they’ll betray me, run off, or die on me – easier t’ just fuck an’ walk, ain’t it?”

“You keep trying, though; you want more.”

“Sucker fer punishment? Gettin’ my heart yanked out backward through my fuckin’ teeth seems t’ be a theme.”

“How many times have you really put the effort in?”

“Often enough t’ figure out tha BOHICA pattern.”

“The what pattern?”

“Military term – Bend Over, Here It Comes Again.”

“Okay… What does ‘be your mate’ mean, then? Like, one of your lionesses or something? I’ve figured out it probably doesn’t include monogamy.”

Victor smirked. “Means I’d keep ya safe from any damn harm – includin’ harm from me. When my inner kitty takes a mate, he don’t try t’ hurt ‘em, even in a red haze. Don’t go jumpin’ in front o’ ‘is teeth, natch. Also means I’d provide fer ya – an’ anybody else that happens along.”

“That sounds a lot like ‘wife’ to me.”

“We can negotiate tha terms later. Kiss me, boss.”

Tabitha almost felt dizzy when she kissed him, shocked by all that he’d admitted to her. When he dropped his forehead on her shoulder and took a deep breath, she lifted her hand and stroked his hair. She smiled when the purr started.

“Weird question time?”

His voice muffled against her body, he answered, “Shoot.”

“Since you’re all ‘bodies do what they do’, are you freaky about … uh, ‘moon time’?”

He picked his head up and the quizzical expression made her smile. “Tha what-tha-fuck?”

“You know … periods. I mean, are you the ‘oh crap now we can’t fuck for a week’ type? Or one of those ‘I got my red wings’ adventurous types? I bet I can guess, but it’s more polite to actually ask.”

“Ya think we’re fixin’ t’ say hiya t’ yer Aunt Flo?”

“Well, I’m not an obsessive counter of days, but I usually punch my ticket around the end of a month. It occurred to me that my bloat could be Flo and not pizza.” She made a face. “You’re not going to call my tampons ‘vampire tea bags’ and like try to drink me, are you?”

He looked surprised before he threw his head back and laughed. Tabitha stepped back and put her hands on her hips. When the dildo slid off of his thigh to bob between them, she blushed again.

Trying to stop laughing, he smirked at her. “Guess we’ll find out – eventually. Can’t say I’ve ever run int’ that particular issue before. Women don’t stick ‘round long with me – usually cuz I eat ‘em.” Chuckling, he added, “Ate a few on tha rag, though; I can pick ‘em out in a crowd easy – tha smell’s like fine perfume in a cheap whorehouse.”

“You should write for Hallmark, dude. You said you had a son, even if he did turn out to be an asshole – apple doesn’t fall far from the tree… So one woman stuck around a while.”

“She don’t count an’ that wasn’t exactly planned, not on my part, anyhow.”

“Who was she?”

“Wanna play ‘I feel jealous’ or do ya want me t’ suck yer cock?”

“Probably not a great idea with the fangs – plus all the other knives in your mouth.”

“Ya might be surprised. I’m an ace at suckin’ dick.”

“TMI, Vic. You’re sure it won’t hurt you?”

“Cross my heart an’ pinkie promise. Want me on my belly like a slutty li’l bitch?”

“My God, you are so romantic; I’m swooning.”

“I’m horny as fuck, Tabs.”

She thought about it. “On your back, middle of the bed, knees up – like a slutty little bitch.”

“Soundin’ a li’l less like a cock cherry now, huh?”

“I’ve watched gay porn. It’s hot.”

“Be still my beatin’ loins, yer my dream girl.” He turned where he was, set a knee on the bed and crawled up onto it.

“Wow, okay – hold still a second.”

He looked back at her over his shoulder. “What now?”

“Just enjoying the insanely pornographic and mind-blowing view. Carry on.”

Victor snorted and flopped over onto his back. His weight made the heavy bed frame groan. He watched her as he drew his knees up and spread his thighs, and then smirked. “Be gentle, Rhett.”

“I can’t believe I’m doing this…” She managed to crouch between his knees and put her hands on them. “Um, what do I do?”

“Use yer hustler trick. Not that I care if ya just shove it in.”

“That would damage you.”

“It’d heal.” He reached up and opened a drawer in the nightstand easily without getting up. One claw popped and speared a large tube of lube. “Want that?”

“I’m the boss, right?” she asked, unsticking it from the claw.

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Then once I get you ready, show me how to move.”

She felt nervous as she worked in lubed fingers and the mattress paid the price, but her excitement grew as she watched him get lost in it. Seeing his toes curl when she rubbed his prostate was fun, even though it popped those claws and made more holes and tears in the covers.

“Ya wanna fist me, babe? Be my guest, but if not, that’s probly good enough – an’ that thing ain’t gonna let ya open it fer long, anyhow.” He snagged two pillows and her fingers were pulled free when he hoisted his hips to stuff them under his lower back, elevating his ass.

“Uh … it … closed again?”

“Told ya. It does that. Don’t fuss ‘bout it; all tha other boys like it that tight, includin’ me. Showtime. Scoot yer knees up t’ my hips an’ set tha tip against tha glory hole. Just pop yer hips when ya get goin’ – ya seen me do that.”

“How do I make it hit your prostate?”

“Oh, it’s gonna.”

“This thing is like your version of a teddy bear, I suppose.”

Victor chuckled. “Anytime yer ready, Tab.”

She slicked up the dildo, set it in place, and then gave her hips a flick. The head of it disappeared and he sucked in his breath sharply. “Is that okay?”

“Shove it in. Fuck me, babe.”

She grabbed his thighs and hauled her body closer, pushing the thing steadily in. The claws hit the mattress again and gouged. She moved to draw it back and made a practice thrust. “Wow, okay, I forgot the other end was in me.”

“It don’t suck?”

“No, doesn’t suck,” she agreed, and did it again. “I can’t go as fast as you do, and I can’t reach to kiss you.”

Victor hoisted himself up on his elbows and curled his long back up. “A shove fer a kiss. Yer too short fer that t’ be real feasible.”

Tabitha shoved and stretched up to kiss him. “Maybe I’ll suck your dick instead; that feels like being on the rack.”

“Lady’s Choice…”

She wrapped one arm around his bent leg, grabbed his leaking cock and sucked the head as she found a thrusting rhythm. Watching his head fall back and hearing his groan inspired her to work both ends harder. She knew her body would tire before he was finished, and the thrusting motion had her muscles reminding her of their rough sex the night before, but she wanted to go as long as she could.

When his fingers reached out maybe fifteen minutes later and gripped her curls gently, she paused. Abruptly, the exhaustion rushed through her. “What is it?”

“Yer gonna damage yerself, babe – yer still recuperatin’.”

“You’re not even close,” she protested, her shoulders falling.

“Back up, I’ll play cowgirl.”

“Um, what?” She wiped sweat off of her forehead and slowly walked backward on aching knees.

He moved with the same lithe grace he always did, not even breathing hard. On his knees facing her, he pressed his body into hers and bent his head to kiss her, deep and soft. His cock was trapped against her body, while hers bobbed between his legs. As she experimentally snapped her hips once, it struck his balls. She froze, but he only chuckled. When he moved away, he picked her up and laid her down on her back.

“Cowgirl. Gonna ride yer pony dick.”

She watched as he faced her and straddled her slender hips, gripped the dildo in his hand and dropped himself down on it all at once. It made her wince in sympathy, but his pleasure was obvious. He used the bunched muscles of his legs to ride it and as his speed increased, the harness nearly lifted her hips on his upstroke. The movement made the other end inside her feel amazing and it wasn’t so wide that she had to think about avoiding injury.

“Lend a hand?” he asked, his breathing finally quickening.

Tabitha was confused for a moment; she’d been mesmerized watching his cock, powerful body, and expressive face. He took her wrists gently in his fingers and placed her hands on the head of his cock.

“Make a tunnel,” he told her.

“Oh…” She surrounded it and started to give it a hard squeeze on his downstrokes. His hand moved between them and two fingers slipped under the leather to pinch and play with her clit. “Shit, yes … oh my God…”

She wasn’t at all prepared when he came, but he managed to lose it and still keep his weight off of her. She did try to catch his cum, but it got everywhere when she lost her hold on his slick cock.

He rose off of her contraption and nearly broke the bed flopping down hard onto his stomach.

“380 pounds with the metal, huh?” she smiled and reached out to stroke his back.

“Now ya know why I hate skinny French furniture. Be a pal an’ stuff it back in – just lie on me.”

Tabitha had to struggle to get up with his weight so far on one side of the bed. She half-fell over him, pushed down on the dildo and was surprised when it punched back in as if the muscle hadn’t been opened at all. It made Victor grunt, but then the purr started up. She moved to shove it in deeper and settled, pillowing her head on his back.

“Yer def a keeper,” he muttered against the covers.

“You did most of the work. I’m too damn little.”

“Hear me complainin’?”

“Um, no…” He fell silent and she began kissing his back. “Are we sleeping like this? Because you roll sometimes.”

“Bitch, bitch, bitch,” he muttered, but she leaned over and saw the smile stretching.

When she realized two of his fangs were caught in the blankets, she started to giggle. “We murdered the bed.”

“It was askin’ fer it.”

Tabitha propped up on her forearm and reached to slide his hairband off of the ponytail. She put it on her wrist and started playing with his hair. “Okay, I like this. I like what it does to you. You’re almost mellow. Don’t fall asleep.”

“I still got duct tape.”

“I’m still the boss. Come on, get up. We can salvage the bed and I can’t sleep in this thing.” To get him out of his stupor, she pulled back and thrust in once before clambering off and out of him.

Victor grunted. He either didn’t notice the fangs were stuck or didn’t care, and they sheared the blanket when he lifted his head. “I ain’t gettin’ up.”

Noticing the whip and crop tangled in the covers, she pulled them loose. She managed to stand and got the harness off, sucking in her breath when the toy popped out of her. “Roll to the middle, then – you might break the edge.”

She heard him roll over. Taking the kinky collection back to the dressing room, she set it all on top of the rest on the couch and went back. Victor was on his back in the middle of the demilitarized bed. He was watching her with heavy-lidded eyes. She crawled up beside him, moved a wad of sheet to pad a wet spot and used his chest as a pillow.

When she leaned in to look closer at his eyes, they opened wider and she smiled. “Your cat pupils are blown out huge – or they were.” She watched the rounded black pupils contract back into vertical slits.

“Not tha only part o’ me that was.” He closed his eyes and shivered. The low groan that escaped his lips almost made her hot again.

“Wow, what was that for?”

“Healin’ factor cinches it up again mighty quick – feels fuckin’ amazin’ when it’s been stretched that much first. Sign o’ a good time had.”

“Silver-tongued devil,” she teased.

“Ya love my fuckin’ tongue.” He shifted slightly and then settled. “Showers in tha mornin’, need sleep.”

“Are we leaving all the lights on?”

“Handy li’l remote’s on yer nightstand, Miss Observant,” he muttered, sounding half asleep.

Tabitha sat up and twisted to grab the thin black device full of buttons. Managing to figure it out without having to ask him, she plunged them into darkness. Putting it back and looking down at him, she smiled to see the thinnest lines of amber light watching her. She leaned down to kiss him before snuggling up again, surprised when he was awake enough to make it a real kiss.

“Goodnight, Vic.”

The only answer she got was the deep thrum of a lazy and contented purr.

~ ~ ~

Before she could bathe, he sat her on the bathroom counter edge and fucked her slow and sweet, careful not to push too deep. He made sure she came before he did, as he almost always had, and then cleaned her up with his tongue. She realized with surprise that she was getting use to that and didn’t comment on it.

_Bodies do what they do – and it’s kind of hot watching him lick his junk up out of there. Maybe he’s right about my exes all being babies about that. I bet he’ll totally go for the vampire red wings, too; he’ll probably even manage to make that hot._

He filled the tub for her and set her in it before starting up a shower in the glass stall back by the toilet.

“You’re not soaking with me? I could just shower with you.”

“Ya need tha hot soak. I smell like a yak an’ need t’ scrub tha shit outta all this fuckin’ fur.”

“Are we going out today?”

“Dunno yet. Gotta make a call.”

She stayed in the tub longer than his shower and got the odd treat of watching him brush his teeth after he shaved. “Did it take a long time to figure out how to do that without destroying the brush?”

Meeting her gaze in the smeared clear patch he’d made on the fogged mirror, he snorted. “Ya got no idea, darlin’.”

“I love watching you abuse your hair. Towel it to death, twist it into a damp knot – after all that punishment, it just dries into that curly gold mass anyway.”

“Got it caught in my fuckin’ asscheeks in tha shower, ‘bout ripped my head back. Might be time t’ shave it off again.”

“Don’t you dare, I love it.”

He threw on a huge black bathrobe and came over to kiss her. “Ya got it, boss.”

“Oh, am I still in charge?”

“Nope, but yer my lady, ain’t ya? Don’t ya females in this modern age always think yer tha boss o’ yer compliant men?”

“Ha, ha. I’m smarter than that, dude. There isn’t a ‘compliant’ adamantium-covered bone in your body.”

“Fer tha record, anytime ya wanna totter up in yer cute li’l pony dick an’ stuff my ass with it, ya can be tha boss again.”

“It’s a deal.”

He finished up at the sink and headed out. “Breakfast is comin’. I’ll send tha obligatory came-with-tha-suite servers on their merry way.”

“Thanks.”

“Not startin’ without ya an’ tha impatient bastard is back, Tabs. Get out before ya pickle.”

Tabitha stuck her tongue out at him just to see if he’d smirk at her. When he did, she grinned back at him. She watched him go and then made herself leave the tub. She felt much better and far less sore. Fewer new red marks showed in the mirror and former ones were more faded. The first few, and the first bite, were turning into scars.

_Maybe I don’t care. Last night, he blew my mind. I’ve never been someone’s ‘mate’ before. The way he said it, it sounded like it was more important to him than the idea of ‘wife’, like it meant more. Never been called someone’s ‘lady’ either; he says that like I matter, like I’m … special. Maybe I’m not just a Bonnie stand-in now?_

In the main room of the suite, she heard him speaking in Japanese and his tone sounded like a businessman. She shook her head as she finished with the towel.

 _In the park, when he ran off, I heard him roar in the woods like a wild beast. I haven’t forgotten how he acted in the safe house, or what he did._ Reaching for her bathrobe, she paused before putting it on and touched the first scars on her neck as she looked at them again in the slowly clearing mirror.  _He’s marked me and he said it makes me prettier to him. The territorial red flags here should have had me running screaming by now. Plus, I’m still wearing the necklace of his victim just to make him happy._  She sighed, remembering the night before and how he had acted since they got up.  _He might kill me if I run, but I’m not sure anymore that I want to run. I can’t keep my head in the sand, though… Shit. You’re fucking bonkers, Tab, just like he is._

*****************************************************************

Victor thought about just keeping her in the suite, but that wouldn’t ‘feel like freedom’. So he took her out on the town and showed her how the rich lived and played in Vancouver. Lunch was on a boat cruise. They went to a few of the museums, the aquarium, and even saw a play.

When they returned to the lobby of the small theater, its front windows were dark and fogged with frost. It was snowing again. He led her to one side as the rest of the audience, nowhere near as dressed up as they were, streamed out.

“I can’t muster any surprise that you like  _Sweeney Todd_ , Vic. Murder, mayhem, cannibalism, throat slashing…”

“Revenge o’ lost love an’ turnin’ tha asswipe that did it int’ a pot pie? That’s romantic as fuck, babe.”

“That pie song was funny.” She looked up at him and smiled. “I like to hear you laugh like that.”

“Stay here, snug in yer new presents. I’ll go get tha car.”

The girl was almost buried in the dark mink coat and she obviously loved it. He liked seeing the glint of the diamond on her skin between firm breasts in a low-cut black and peridot Alexander McQueen frock. She had assured him she could walk in the crystal-encrusted platform McQueen heels she’d chosen.

“Be quick, before someone just has to ravish me.”

Victor grinned, showing all the fangs, before leaning down just slightly to kiss her. “Ya don’t need me t’ protect ya – just stab ‘em with one o’ those lethal heels.”

He’d known the Bugatti would be a target in this part of town, especially in the empty side lot he’d parked it in. He was almost disappointed when there were only three idiots trying to steal it.

“Scratch tha paint on my ride an’ we’ll see where yer bits are gonna end up.”

Only one of them had the sense to run, but Victor already had his scent. He dodged the bullets fired by the skinny one and slammed him up against the side of the car with claws at his throat. The bigger one swung his pipe and Victor sliced adamantium claws through the steel. It fell into pieces that rolled under the car.

“Victor, wait – don’t kill them!”

He turned his head and snarled at the figure coming up behind her – a fourth, with a smell of metal. Without hesitation, he fisted the hand on the skinny man’s throat, the claws nearly decapitating him. The other tried to swing the shortened pipe again, only to double over as his gut was opened above his belt.

“Oh, shit!” Tabitha screamed, as he came at her. He grabbed her and pulled her into one arm, spinning her out of the way against the car as the man behind her raised and fired his gun where her head had been.

Victor staggered back a step, roared, and then jumped. He landed on the shooter, jaw extended and snapping up again even as they hit the cement. The gun skipped away as the arm was sheared from the body. Rolling, he lurched to his feet.

“Get in tha damn car!” He threw the keys to her. She yelped as she unlocked it and slid in, trying to avoid the blood on it. Growling, Victor dropped into the driver’s seat and snatched the keys back. “Told ya t’ wait inside.”

The car leapt forward as he gunned the engine and she didn’t answer as she grabbed for the dashboard. He found an alley a couple miles away, slipped into it and threw the car into park.

“Got somethin’ t’ say t’ me?”

“Yes – I didn’t mean to get them killed.”

“Oh they were gonna get dead.” He hissed as he looked down at his chest. “Aw, fuck.”

“Were you shot? Let me see!”

“Don’t be stupid, that ain’t nothin’.” He opened the suit jacket and shirt, pulled them out of the way to reveal the lump under healed skin and popped a claw.

“Oh God,” she said, and looked away when he opened up his chest to get the slug out.

Victor took her wrist a minute later and dropped the crushed bloody bullet into her palm. “Yer souvenir t’ remind ya that I tell ya shit like that t’ keep ya safe.”

Staring down at it, she muttered, “I’m sorry.”

“Are ya all in one piece?”

“Yes…”

“Okay, then. Good t’ know tha Hugo Boss didn’t die in vain. Ya got blood on yer coat sleeve, though. Hold it over here.” When she did, he licked it off, chuckling at the look on her face.

“Ugh. I bet they have dry cleaners in this town.”

“Ain’t got no time fer that – gotta dinner reservation t’ catch.”

“Are you okay? Everything healed?”

“Everythin’ but my tailor’s heart.” Throwing the car into gear again, he added, “Buckle up.”

She clicked the seatbelt without a word.

Driving up to a coin-operated car wash, Victor stopped in front of a man rinsing his car and rolled his window down. “Be a pal,” he said, and grinned with all of his teeth showing. When he rolled up the window, the man sprayed the blood off of the Bugatti. “See, what’d I tell ya? It’s true – us Canadians’re tha nicest folks.”

He was impressed when she didn’t bring up the dead men at all, not at the sushi bar for dinner, or during the drive back to the hotel.

~ ~ ~

Victor stood nude at the window overlooking the harbor after letting Tabitha take his jacket and wadded up black suit and tie upstairs with her. He’d told her not to bother hanging up the jacket with the others. She had stuck a finger through the neat bullet hole in the front lapel and gone pale. He was just happy his overcoat had dodged it.

Whiskey bottle in one hand and fine Cohiba Cuban cigar in the other, he watched ships move on the water. The fireplace and heat were toasting the suite nicely. It was good to be still and quiet; just as good as it had been to feel flesh open under his claws and fangs.

As she reappeared and came downstairs, she had changed into one of his t-shirts. He turned and watched her sit on the couch, pulling her feet up under her.

“Are you mad at me? I could have bombed that gun out of his hand.”

“Nope – enjoyed tha exercise, though.” He went over and sat next to her, blowing the smoke away from her. “Ya like Pink Floyd, or just wanna cuddle up in somethin’ that smells like me?” She didn’t answer, but her small hands began to stroke the fur that randomly traced some of the muscles of his thigh. “Ya made my inner kitty jump pretty fuckin’ quick t’night – guess he likes ya.”

She cuddled up under his arm. “Next time I’ll stay put so I don’t get people killed.”

“Some folks ain’t worth worryin’ ‘bout, darlin’ – doped-out car-jackers fer instance.”

“Will you tell me who the woman was, the mother of your son?”

Victor snorted. “Still latched ont’ that, huh? Ya make it sound so grand. Most o’ tha time my sonny boy an’ me are tryin’ t’ kill each other – hell, same with ‘is mommie dearest, now an’ then.” She was quiet, looking up at him. He sighed. “Ya know ‘er as Mystique. First time I ran int’ ‘er, she was a blonde German spy named Leni Zauber. East Berlin, Cold War. I was CIA then an’ tha runt was on my team, believe it or not. Me an’ ‘er, we were both ‘sposed t’ kill tha same target, some scientist mook. She got there first. We busted int’ tha West side an’ ended up havin’ t’ lie low fer ‘bout a month in this tiny fuckin’ flat. Wasn’t nothin’ t’ do but drink an’ fuck, so that’s what we did.”

“I don’t usually like cigars, but that one doesn’t reek, at least.”

“Cuban delights, babe. Wanna puff?”

“No, thanks; I do have to worry about my lungs. So … you just fucked for a month and then left?”

“Pretty much, but she wasn’t afraid o’ me. Wasn’t used t’ that. Guess ya could say I was hopin’ it wouldn’t end there. Then she left tha flat t’ meet a contact, said she’d be back, an’ got dead. Saw ‘er in tha morgue. That was tha real Leni … guess I never met ‘er while she was breathin’. I shoulda been able t’ smell that she didn’t have my scent on ‘er, but I was mostly smellin’ chemicals an’ too pissed t’ pay attention much.”

“Pissed because she was dead?”

“Yeah, plus I’d been AWOL fer a month; wasn’t thrilled ‘bout goin’ back ont’ my government leash.”

“Did Mystique kill Leni?”

“Got no clue. She said later that Leni wasn’t even a spy, called ‘er a bean counter. She’d used tha body bein’ found so she could disappear. I never knew I’d knocked ‘er up, not at tha time. Maybe it happened near tha end o’ our tryst. Takes a bit before it changes their scent. Found out later ‘bout bouncin’ baby Graydon Creed; she picked tha damn sissy name. Still don’t know why she put ‘Creed’ on tha paperwork. I was more surprised t’ find out that she was a metamorph pretendin’ t’ be Leni.”

“So what happened to him? As a kid, I mean?”

“Once Raven figured out he was a flatscan, she abandoned ‘im. She’d already shipped ‘im off t’ a school somewhere so he wouldn’t get in ‘er way. I didn’t even know he existed ‘til he was grown, but Raven ain’t winnin’ any awards fer motherin’ an’ he’d found out ‘bout me an’ my rep. Hell, she probly told ‘im. He grew up t’ hate us an’ ended as one o’ tha biggest anti-mutant assholes t’ ever crawl up tha Capital steps o’ D.C.”

“There’s a lesson buried in there somewhere, you realize that…?”

“Yup. Don’t let ‘em grow up once ya hear they hate ya that bad. Irony bein’ a bitch, he was tha one that sent me t’ kill ‘er. Had our throw down smack in tha middle o’ ‘er Paris date with tha runt – guess she don’t mind cheap knock-offs o’ tha real deal.”

“So you didn’t kill her, since she’s still around…”

“Naw, she told me all ‘bout our li’l mistake an’ ‘bout ‘im bein’ behind tha hit an’ I let ‘er walk t’ go pay ‘im back fer what he’d done t’ me an’ mine. Handin’ me over t’ crackpot surgeons an’ puttin’ fuckin’ bombs in me so ya can use me as yer own personal killer ass-puppet is a fast track way t’ get on my bad side.”

“I’ll, uh, keep that in mind. It makes shopping for your Christmas present a challenge, though.”

“Diggin’ my shit outta that house he trashed an’ haulin’ it all up t’ tha Yukon was a tedious bitch, too. Biggest prob was losin’ Birdy, my pet telepath. Needed that psychic glow then t’ keep my brains straight. Sure, I’d probly got ‘round t’ killin’ Birdy, she did sell me out t’ Junior – but by tha time he killed ‘er, I wasn’t done with ‘er yet.”

“I’m … so sorry for your loss.”

Victor smiled, leaned down, and kissed her curls. “Coulda killed tha brat, but ‘is malice in deprivin’ me o’ tha telepath was kinda impressive, so I let ‘im live.”

“What a sweet father-son bonding moment. Dude, you got issues.”

“I wasn’t much o’ a family man type then. Could change – if tha right girl stuck ‘round an’ turned in ‘er X.”

“Hmm. Hey, if Mystique wasn’t afraid of you and wanted you – why didn’t you fall for her like … um…”

“There’s def a diff’rence, babe. Raven a.k.a. Leni wanted some dick. At tha time, she wasn’t real fussed ‘bout who it was attached t’. I was tha dick that happened t’ be there.”

“I understand. Who is the guy in Chicago? You called him a ‘minx’?”

“‘Nother metamorph – has a torch burnin’ fer me. He works fer one o’ my oldest friends, a madam who runs an all-mutant brothel. She’s one o’ tha teachers ya been enjoyin’ tha teachin’s o’.”

“Oh. So you have a thing for metamorphs…?”

“Pretty fuckin’ handy fer crazy kinky fun, ya know.”

“I guess, but I wouldn’t know.”

“Not much beats ‘em when ya gotta hankerin’ fer variety. Dick or pussy? Tentacles? Or ya wanna bone George Clooney? They got it all. Maybe I’ll take ya there. He can turn int’ yer long lost cornhusker fer ya. I’d even pay if ya lemme watch.”

She made a face. “No thanks and eww. Besides, doesn’t your aversion to monogamy not extend to me? I bet I’m supposed to only let you fuck me, right?”

“Knew ya were a clever gal.”

“Uh-huh.” She got up and kissed him. “Okay, bathroom. Um … when you’re done smoking that, how about getting into bed and I’ll be there in a bit?”

“Sounds like a plan, babe.”

Victor was half-dozing on his stomach when she crawled onto the bed. The leather and rubber scent of the rig mixing with her heat tugged his lips into a smirk. He knew leaving that case unlocked after cleaning up the toys had been a genius idea.

“Ya like that, huh?”

“Um, yes…”

“One condition, darlin’ – ya gotta grow int’ those rubber balls an’ just shove it in this time.”

“Okay… I will.”

“Mmm… Lay on, babe.” He spread his legs for her and when her fingers touched him simply to open the cheeks and set the thing at his hole, the purr sparked on its own.

“Ah, I brought this.”

He didn’t need to look; he’d smelled the crop tucked in her harness, too. “Go fer tha back an’ legs with that an’ I’ll work on not buckin’ ya off.”

“Does that mean … yes, you want that?”

“Told ya if ya wanted t’ play with that again ya’d get yer boss title back – do what ya want; use me t’ make ya feel good. Toss outta command or two an’ ya might get an even wilder ride.”

“You really like that, don’t you…”

He didn’t answer. She drew in a deep breath and shoved her hips forward. The rubber toy tore into the muscle, rough and brutal, and all of his claws popped and dug in at once. The staff had replaced the whole bed that morning – they might need to replace it again.

“Fuck! Do it, babe – fuck me rough.”

“Shut up,” she ordered, and the flat of the crop smacked hard on his back. “You’re not allowed to talk unless I ask you a direct question.” She popped the toy back out and moved back. “Get up on your hands and knees. I … I’m going to hit you with this thing wherever I want.”

The purr modulated into a low growl, but she was starting to figure out the differences. Her fear stink was there, but her heat intensified when he obeyed. His claws dug deeper into the mattress when she started to rub at his sack with the flat of the crop. Hoping to encourage her, he purred louder. It was only a gentle smack, barely more than a kiss of leather, but it woke his cock up fast.

“If you don’t behave, I’ll hit them harder.”

The purr instantly became a snarl but he was still surprised when she actually followed through and snapped the thing hard. The pain pinned his ears down, his hiss making her hesitate. Then, greatly daring, she got closer; she set the dildo at his hole again and paused.

“Tell me you want me to fuck you, Victor.”

“Shit, yeah…”

“You want me to hurt you?”

“Yes…”

“Beg me.”

 _Holy fuck…_  He growled at her instead and she hit his back with the crop. When he snarled again, she struck a thigh. He felt his body’s nerves start to fire, the instinct to twist and slash rising only to hit the wall of her sweet scent and fall back.  _Hold ont’ it, fuck … control it, ya damn piece o’ shit!_ He forced himself slowly under control and let her fear and her courage to hit him again help him to submit, to get exactly what he wanted. He made his head sink low between his shoulders. “Please,” he whispered, “hurt me…”

Her scent spiked into excitement at the exact moment that she popped her hips and dug the dildo back into his body. Her free hand gripped his long ponytail and wrapped it around her fist like it was a bucking strap.

“I’m going to fuck you, Victor, and you’re going to be good and let it happen. You’re nothing but my toy to play with.”

Victor groaned and let the words, the senses, and the near-assault of her cock and crop wash over and through him. His heat rose, threatening to cloud his mind, and when she used the shaft of the crop to scrape up the underside of his cock, it swelled so fast it hurt. The foreskin stretched and retracted, the tip blushed darker as it began it drip. He couldn’t control the claws.

“I’m going to come first, and second, maybe even third and you aren’t allowed to. Not until I’m done.”

He splayed his knees wider and felt the fucking in of her cock arrow right to the pit of his balls. The growl sparked again, a sound of need he couldn’t control if he’d wanted to. She found a rhythm and the cock beat against his prostate as it pushed deeper. He began to think about how she couldn’t fuck hard enough without hurting herself, but then the flat of the crop popped in a brutal smack to the leaking head of his cock.

A snarl was torn out of his throat through bared teeth, but the change had begun and he let it take him down. It was something deep and private, a need he had hidden even from himself for most of his life. His head sunk lower as the jaw started to drop, the fangs dripping saliva in strings.

He was struck again, but his mind didn’t register where or why. He breathed deep and smelled a masculine scent, mixed with tobacco, cheap wine, sweat, and layer upon layer of the cloying smell of sex. In his mind, he heard the low, urgent voice again.  _Be still, Victor, mon grand, be still. You need this, you want it. Bite into the pillow, mon beau chat, mon cher, if you must_ _. I know it hurts_ _, but I must … have you…_ He lowered down onto his forearms, his head pressed to the thin cold padding. The growl slowed to a low rumble, as he fell still, submissive and opened wide.

Something soft touched his cock, a hand that reached around his hip to squeeze the head. He felt lost, almost drunk, until a female voice spoke his name, her English words dragging him back to himself.

“Victor… I want you to come, you need it…”

His mind’s eye saw rough bedding, heard the harsh shouts of men calling to each other in many languages outside a small tent. Calloused fingers held his smooth chin and turned his head, the mouth that tasted of tobacco and wine kissed him. The man broke it to chastise him to be careful of fangs, and then kissed him again, as the hot seed burst deep inside his craving and aching body.

“Victor, come on,” the female urged, the small hand without callouses working his cock.

He groaned, and then his hips bucked. His body was still filled. His heat rose and swallowed his mind and his body bucked again. The sensation of soft flesh and calloused memory blended and he came, the release simply washing his fragile sense of self away as the blackness took him.

~ ~ ~

The scent of water slowly pulled him awake, and then the sounds returned – a gentle splish noise, and his name. A soft piece of wet cotton touched his back.

“Victor? Are you awake? Please be awake?”

He groaned, turned his head and breathed deep, scenting again.  _Tha female … mate …_  “Tab?” he muttered, his voice sounded rough, shakey. The thought of that made him growl low.

“Yes, Victor… I’m … glad you’re back. That sort of seriously worried me… Are you okay?”

He looked for the water and saw a glass beer mug from the wet bar on the nightstand. She was wiping a washcloth over his skin. The soft touch modulated the growl into a purr.

“Yeah… Shit…” Smelling her fear, he twitched and woke more, lifting his head to look back at her. “Did I hurt ya?”

“No, not at all. I was afraid I managed to hurt you.”

“Naw… Feel drunk… I think.” Her smile of relief, fear scent receding, strengthened the purr.

“Do you want me to leave you be, let you sleep?”

He frowned, feeling his stomach drop. “No, stay. Just … keep touchin’ me. Please…”

“I will, okay.” She continued wiping his back with the cool cloth. She’d dropped the rig somewhere, maybe in the bathroom. “I’m … just going to keep cleaning you up. I’m kind of guessing you like this, so … tell me to quit if you don’t.”

Bold as brass, she ran her cloth right over his hole. He could feel the lube trying to dry in his fur and abruptly wondered how long he’d been out of his head. She hadn’t had the thing lubed up at the start.

“That may require a hot bath; you’re furry in some surprising places.” He smiled at the thought of the mess he was lying in. “Can I ask – what happened? You kind of went away…”

“Guess ya could say it’s like subspace. ‘Cept it happens t’ me pretty rare; usually play like that wakes up my inner beastie instead.”

“Is this a kinky deal? I’m a newbie.”

Victor growled. “It’s a BDSM deal. Subspace, look it up.”

“Okay… I’m sorry…”

He sighed and quieted. “Look out, gonna roll. Might leave some fur behind, I think I’m glued down.” Once he settled on his back, he could feel the endorphin crash creeping through him. “Come here, cuddle me, babe.” He held her close when she curled up against him. “It’s kinda like a trance that rides tha endorphins high o’ play like that. I’m a crazy motherfucker with jacked up senses, so it can do some weird shit t’ my brain.”

“It’s kind of hard to wrap my head around the idea that you can be … uh, submissive.”

“It has its charms an’ a whole new range o’ feelin’s t’ explore. Not all comes are equal, ya know; sometimes lettin’ go an’ givin’ over can make it intense as fuck. My sticky mess down south’s proof.” His claws retracted before his fingers toyed with her curls.

“I can’t tell if you sound mellow or down.”

“Endorphin crash, babe. Healin’ factor’ll wipe it out in no time. Ya did good, baby Domme an’ all; ya had fun?” She blushed and he smiled. Those blushes could kill him.

“I did. I didn’t know what you meant in the park – but I could get addicted to that, sure.”

“Truth is, might be a safer game fer us, long as we’re careful o’ pullin’ tha beastie’s tail wrong.”

“That sounds nice.”

“What?”

“Hearing you say ‘us’ and ‘we’.”

“Tell me yer willin’ t’ be my mate an’ ya’d hear more o’ tha sweet stuff.” She fell silent and still at that. He could almost hear the wheels turning in her head and wondered if the men he’d killed that night were lashed to them. “Didn’t mean fer ya t’ see those flatscans die at tha theater. Thought that last one was gonna paste ya an’ I had t’ –”

“Shh…” She rose up against the pile of pillows and kissed his brow. “Just relax, Victor.”

He turned onto his side toward her and laid his head on her shoulder, one arm draped over her waist. “Why’d ya tell me all those secrets, back in my Danger Room cell?”

“I … guess I just wanted to say it to someone. I needed to express it, my feelings and my past, and you seemed like a safe person I could share with … at the time.”

“Did it help? Ya know – before I got my brains back an’ started usin’ it all against ya…”

She cuddled closer and kissed his head again. He couldn’t help the little shudder that moved over his skin, but then the purr started up on its own. “It did help. I had … feelings for you then, too, even if they were pretty complex and guilt-ridden. It helped to tell and to see and feel that you still accepted me afterward.”

“Ya had feelin’s then … too…?”

“Yes, too.” She brushed his hair out of his eyes, but he couldn’t look up at her. “What is it, Victor?”

“Wanna hear a secret, ‘bout that subspace shit?”

“If you want to tell me, yes, I want to.” Her fingers reached to slip the band off of his hair. She pulled some of it over his shoulder and played with it.

“It was almost like a hallucination, diff’rent smells, like a dream. Memories o’ smells can really stick. Remember I told ya ‘bout time compressin’ in my brain sometimes?”

“I remember. Was it a … good … hallucination?”

“Think so. I was all o’ a sudden bein’ fucked by tha Frenchman in a tent. Probly a buried memory cuz tha scents were so real, tha sounds, everythin’. Now I think ‘bout it, tha smell o’ tha steel an’ piles o’ rail ties was all ‘round me – an’ ‘is cigs.” He thought about her question and frowned. “It hurt. Maybe cuz he was hung an’ I wasn’t so big then.”

“But … weren’t you only fifteen? Wasn’t that kind of … awful of him?”

“Diff’rent century, darlin’, diff’rent ways o’ thinkin’ – an’ I ain’t been a kid since I was ten. Fifteen, yeah. Guess he woulda been ‘bout forty. ‘Sides, back then, legal age o’ consent was ten or thirteen, dependin’ on where ya were.”

“Yikes.”

“Folks didn’t know stuff like they do now an’ they didn’t live as long, neither, so they started sooner. Ya know  _Romeo an’ Juliet_ , Shakespeare?”

“I know of it…”

“They were considered o’ tha age t’ be married off, but in that time, way before my time, Juliet woulda been ‘bout thirteen. I know what ya mean – I’ve killed plenty o’ those perverts in this century just cuz. Thing is, back then, nobody woulda called me a kid. I was walkin’ int’ saloons an’ drinkin’ whiskey at fourteen an’ not one man blinked. World’s changed a helluva lot.”

“Okay, I understand. I still think it sounds like a pretty harsh life.”

“Naw, harsh was what I’d run from. I wanted t’ be ‘round those men, not runnin’ in tha woods no more. I wanted t’ be poundin’ railroad spikes an’ learnin’ how t’ pretend I was a man. Tha Frenchman took tha trouble t’ teach me all that. Taught me how t’ write my name; hell, he helped me remember my damn name.”

“What was his name?”

“Michel Richoux.”

“Is that why you don’t want Brys and Perrin to speak French around you?”

“They told ya that, huh? Yeah, it started buggin’ me. Don’t hate it, but in tha wrong frame o’ mind it can mess with my head.”

“Although… I heard Perrin speaking French to you … in bed. I didn’t understand it, but it sounded like sweet-talk to me…”

“That boy ain’t one bit scared o’ me an’ I’ve had time t’ feel relaxed ‘round ‘im. Ya know I talk in my sleep sometimes. He’s heard some stuff I wouldn’t choose t’ tell any-damn-body. My inner beast reacts t’ those memories o’ Richoux an’ tha boy’s figured out French sweet stuff can calm me down. He’s also smart enough not t’ take those liberties at other times.”

“So tell me about your Frenchman … if you want to. How did you end up … um … together?”

“He wanted me in ‘is bed an’ I ‘spose I had no clue what he was after at first, an’ then I found out pleasure could be good, real good, even if it hurt. Kinda started as ‘what tha hell’re ya doin’ t’ me’. Was probly more confusin’ cuz I’d seen animals do it t’ make babies, an’ thought he was fuckin’ cracked cuz I was male… Still, shit, it took my mind off tha screamin’ hell Pa left in my head.” He sighed as the purr died out, but kissed the side of her neck. “Guess maybe I sound sorta twisted as fuck t’ ya.”

“No, you don’t. You were trying to survive and learn. It’s okay. I hope he wasn’t intending to hurt you, though?”

“Nope, but I was a pretty sharp wildcat an’ it was kinda a case o’ control my ass or get killed. Hell, I thought he was just assertin’ dominance tha first time, ‘til I got split down tha middle. Probly asked me if I wanted t’, he was always doin’ that ‘bout other stuff. I just remember a scent that was drivin’ me crazy – had no idea what it was, but it had t’ be his heat, pheromones. It made my dick stand up, though. Don’t recall that I’d ever used it prior. Still dunno ‘bout that doc, neither. Lotsa my earliest memories are just gone. It’s happened before, meanin’ that hallucination thing – but it … it’s good, t’ me… At least if it’s him.”

“Then I’m glad he was good for you. I’d say call that your first and don’t worry about the murky stuff before. My first was a drunken fumble in an asshole’s backseat; he was the only one who had fun. Can I have a kiss?” He lifted his head and kissed her soft lips before settling on her shoulder again. Her fingers touched his throat, without sparking a growl. “You stopped wearing the bones and teeth.”

“Natch – ya don’t like it.”

“Victor … when did it become important to you to consider what I do or don’t like?”

“When I realized I want ya fer my mate.” He huffed out a breath when she fell silent again. “Dunno how t’ do this, Tabitha.” He looked up at her as she stared back down at him. “Wanna try t’ not make ya afraid o’ me. Dunno how t’ do that, neither. I know I’m not tha sharpest tack an’ I gotta shit-ton o’ issues an’ a mean streak tha size an’ speed o’ a bullet train. Don’t it count fer somethin’ though that I wanna try?”

“Why, Victor?”

“Don’t make me say it, darlin’ – ain’t ready fer that.”

“No, I’m not either. I don’t want to even think it, but I’ve been here before, and I know I could…”

“Why’d ya pick my shirt t’ wear when ya felt upset still ‘bout those dead men?”

“Don’t make me say it, Victor,” she whispered his words back to him.

He rose up over her and kissed her breasts, working his way down her body. “Lemme show ya, then.”

His hands were gentle as he moved her to open her legs. Little fingers slid into his loose hair when he settled in and put his mouth to her, his groan hungry and full of need.

With tears filling her eyes, she whispered, “Oh, my God… I want this … I wish … I wasn’t so afraid of it.”

Victor couldn’t speak and didn’t trust the words anyhow. He drove her body to come over and over until she was gasping and softly asking him to stop. He began to move up, needing to fuck her, but she pressed her hand against his chest. He met her gaze and no words would surface in his muddled thoughts.

“You want it?”

“Need it…”

“Then let me say no.”

His ears pinned. “Yer scent says ya want it.”

“I need … to say no. If I’m not allowed to, this won’t work.” Confusion sparking anger, the growl began. She pressed a finger to his lips. “Please let me say no, Victor. I do want you, I do, very much – but I … need this, too. I’m sorry if you don’t understand.”

He watched her in silence, feeling the heat crest. The aching need, denied, was almost perceived as pain in his fractured mind. Driven by the warm and wet scent of her heat, his fears tried to whisper that her words were false.

“I’m cold, Victor... Please keep me warm?”

Taking a deep breath, his thoughts whirling like frightened birds, he moved to lie at her side and gathered her into his arms. She clung to him and lay still. A single word crept back into his throat. “Sleep...”

She fell asleep soon after, and then snuggled closer against his chest. Victor listened to her breathing and the pounding of his own heart. In time, his heat broke and faded, but he couldn’t sleep.

~ ~ ~

Victor didn’t have CNN on long before breakfast arrived and Tabitha appeared in her robe as soon as the men left. She carried on a largely one-sided conversation for a while and he tried to respond, but he felt keyed up and distracted. When she had stolen his hair tie on the way to the table and teased about giving it back ‘later’, he’d almost snapped his teeth at her.

“So can I call you Sabretooth Barbie?”

His ears pinned. “Do ya like yer intestines where they are now?”

“Yes, I do.”

“Then, nope, ya can’t.”

“Got it.”

She took the band off of her wrist and held it out to him. He managed not to snatch it, but pulled the hair out of his face and tied it back quickly.

“Sorry, I’m just trying to get your attention. You’re a million miles away and crabby. Is something wrong?”

“Nothin’ t’ worry yer pretty head over. Thinkin’ ‘bout tha job. We ain’t got much vacation left.”

“Just today… Are we doing this at night, I guess? You never said…”

“Night, yeah.”

“So that means it’s tonight.”

“Yeah, it does.”

“Time for maps and stuff then… Right?”

One claw tore its way out of his thumb to shred the label of the beer bottle he held. Her question seeped into his awareness as pieces of it fell to the table. “Right. Later.”

“I need to take up a hobby to fill the time between your responses, dude. If you’re really going to try to learn how to be a boyfriend and not a warden, can I ask about your work schedule? I mean … I found out I hate being left alone and ignored… If you’re often gone for weeks at a time…”

He drank the rest of the syrup and met her anxious gaze. “Kinda depends on tha jobs. Reason I got safe houses all over is cuz it’s more secure. Most o’ tha time I move from one t’ tha other an’ try t’ make tha itinerary make sense, from a time an’ fuel perspective. If ya wanna just be in Hawaii, fer instance, I could make that work some o’ tha time an’ keep goin’ back there. Other times, it ain’t gonna be practical. Can’t go from a job in Moscow back t’ Hawaii an’ then jet back out fer Krakow. If ya want me t’ tuck ya in each night, ya’d have t’ travel t’ where I gotta be.”

“I could just travel with you…”

“Not gonna happen.”

“I have no idea what your problem is, because – news flash – you won’t tell me. If it’s some kind of ‘wow last night was intense’ nerves thing, trust me, I can relate. I asked if you wanted to talk about it, but you ignored me; I’m not even sure you were listening. You can’t let me in and then push me away, it makes me nuts, and if we’re going all the way back to ‘obey and shut up’, this isn’t going to be a good morning.”

Frowning, he held up a count of fingers. “One, it ain’t always safe. Two, ya can’t stick yer head in tha sand if yer seein’ me flop int’ a chair on tha jet covered in gore. Three, ya’d end up a target when enough assholes that hate my guts see ya ‘round me more’n once.” She opened her mouth to answer but hesitated and his eyes narrowed. “Don’t start with tha ‘give it up’ shit, neither. This is what I am.”

“So ... what can we do?”

“Safest bet? Ya decide t’ stick in one spot an’ I aim there as often as I can. Or, ya travel separate from safe house t’ safe house where I’m gonna be next an’ don’t gimme lip ‘bout draggin’ my ass in tha door bloody.” He got back to polishing off the t-bones, licking his fingers when the bones were piled up. He drew in a deep breath and let it out slow. “Ya wouldn’t be alone in my houses, neither. They got caretakers, like Brys an’ Perrin.”

“If I picked the Yukon house, which I wouldn’t, trust me, Perrin wouldn’t be a happy camper. How many Perrins would I be pissing off because you want to fuck me instead while you’re there? I wouldn’t like that, if it went the other way.”

“Believe it or not, he’s more exception than rule. Tha caretakers make it work; I sure as fuck can’t grocery shop fer a pile o’ houses dottin’ tha damn globe. I don’t intentionally stock ‘em with tasties t’ fuck. Most o’ ‘em are more like stodgy butlers or house fraus.”

“Who are always stimulating company to live with while you’re gone for weeks, I’m sure… Also, I know what ‘most’ means; Perrin’s not the only one. You already told me one of the safe houses is a brothel. Maybe I should go there; you could put me to work for you, huh? At least then I wouldn’t be alone, or bored.” She started poking at the last bite of waffle on her plate before stabbing it with her fork.

Victor picked up one of the bones and crunched into it, watching her with narrowed eyes. She looked up sharply and stared as he chomped them, one by one.

“Trying to scare me into shutting up and toeing your line?”

He sucked on the last bit and crunched it down, licking his fingers again. “Nope.” Grabbing his beer bottle, he finished it off and set it down with a smack. “Ya asked ‘bout schedules an’ said ya don’t like bein’ alone. I’m just rollin’ with tha chat an’ puttin’ my two cents in, darlin’. Fer yer sake, gonna forget tha rest o’ that shit ya decided t’ toss in. Way I see it, this was always gonna be a tangle with scarce workable compromises. That’s gonna be tha case whether ya toe lines or act like a pissy fishwife.”

“Not only am I the one making all the compromises, I also get to worry about you deciding to kill me when you get tired of putting up with me. Your risk seems pretty minimal; all you have to worry about is your ghosts telling you I’ll leave, betray you, or die on you. Oh, and I guess we can share the new one of watching out so your enemies don’t try to kill me. Hey, maybe they’ll beat you to it. Should I give you a lock of my hair now, save you the trouble later?”

Snarling, Victor rose and left the table. “This shit is snowballin’ int’ a chat I ain’t interested in havin’. Go ahead, girl – push me some more.”

He left her there and went upstairs to the dressing room. He was halfway into Armani by the time she crept upstairs and curled up on one end of the couch to watch him button up a new crimson dress shirt. He ignored her and kept getting ready, fastening ruby cufflinks and slipping on his gold Bvlgari watch.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I’m not sure how any of this is my fault, from day one, considering all you’ve done to me, but I’ll say it anyway.” She huffed out a breath. “I’m having a hard time seeing where and how I fit into all of this. My God, what you call compromises are insane, do you know that?”

“Ya know what I am, Tab; ya know what I do. Turnin’ shrew on me ain’t gonna bring out my best side. Tha compromises on tha table are what they are cuz ya won’t drop tha X an’ join me as a partner as well as a bed toy.”

“I won’t kill and I don’t think I can pretend that you aren’t, but I’d have to try to pretend, to keep you. Here’s the thing, though – I don’t have you; you have me.”

“I keep tryin’ t’ give ya all o’ me, t’ give ya my whole world; how can I, when ya won’t take it from me? So I try t’ compromise, try t’ make ya happy with whatever ya can accept – without any guarantee that ya won’t turn on me tha first chance ya get. Then ya tell me yer tha only one takin’ risks.” He slammed a drawer shut. “Figure out how deep int’ tha jungle ya wanna go, or walk away.”

“I can’t walk away. You’ve made that clear. I’m nothing but your marked property.”

Her voice, sharp as knives before, had become a thin murmur. Her fear filled the air as she tightened into a ball and began to watch his every move. It was like the night that had torn a piece out of his soul and laid it at her feet had never happened.

A riot of emotions tangling in his veins and thoughts, he couldn’t stop the growl as he began to pace. Finally turning to his luggage, he batted off the case he’d repacked the cleaned toys into and reached for the briefcase under it. Unlocking and opening it, he grabbed what he wanted and left it open.

When he approached her, she ducked her face under her arm and shuddered. He dropped the heavy brown paper sack next to her curled up feet, ignoring her frightened yelp and wince. Then he dropped the extra card key to the suite onto it.

“That’s half o’ what ya’d make on tha job an’ yer own key card. “I gotta go out t’ meet my client. Probly gonna be a few hours. Get some clothes on an’ go out somewhere, do somethin’. See a movie, shop, hop a plane t’ tha fuckin’ Big Apple if ya want. I ain’t gonna chase ya, ain’t gonna hunt ya down. If ya come back, then it’s yer choice. If ya don’t … then ya don’t. I can’t shadow ya tha rest o’ yer damn life keepin’ ya in line, so I ain’t even gonna try. Ya bring any o’ those X-freaks down on me an’ I’ll slaughter every worthless one o’ ‘em I can get my teeth int’. Got it? Ya lead ‘em t’ my home, an’ I’ll slash tha throat o’ every friend ya ever had. Ya understand that?”

“Victor, please, don’t do this – I’m sorry –” She tried to reach for his hand, but he popped claws with a snarl and turned away.

“Tell me ya understand, Tabitha.”

“I understand, but I can’t trust you not to hunt me.”

“Run back t’ Cueball, then. Find out if he gives a fuck ‘bout protectin’ ya when ya drag yerself through his door in tha state yer in. Ask tha runt what he thinks o’ ya, with every hole ya got smellin’ like me. He knows what my marks on a livin’ throat means.”

“Why are you doing this?”

“Ya better go somewhere, Tabitha. Go out, clear yer head an’ make yer choice. If ya come back, we can figure it out.” He whirled and strode back to her, grabbed her shoulders and ignored the slight scream she tried to cut off and swallow. “Told ya what I want an’ ya fuckin’ want it too, don’t ya?” He tossed her down over the bag and card, fell to his knees, forced her legs open, and put his mouth on her. She did scream, but his tongue drove in deep and lashed her into a shuddering silence before the moaning began.

She clutched at his hair, pulling it askew from the ponytail at the nape of his neck as he drove her body to come. He slid on his knees and moved up, his kiss on her mouth hard and desperate. She struggled until an upper fang pierced her bottom lip and then went limp. He kissed her until she began to respond with a frightened passion. One hand slipped down and the fingers entered her again, made her come again.

Kissing and licking her throat, he slowly fought to master himself, his jaw trembling to drop and bite. He rested his forehead on her chest instead and felt her hands instantly cradle his head and stroke his hair. Her touch could tame the beast, if not the man – her touch and the sweet scent beneath the acrid fear.

“Victor … please calm down, I’m so scared … please… I’m sorry…”

“Need ya, Tabs,” he whispered, “but need ya t’ want t’ be with me more. Ya think I wouldn’t move tha earth t’ keep ya safe if ya were mine? Ya think I wouldn’t carve a path in guts t’ protect ya? I’d bury ya in any fuckin’ thing ya ever wanted an’ I’d never hurt ya … if ya were my mate…” He drew in a deep breath, his hands on her, one on her thigh and the other moving to rest gently over her belly. “I can’t be a normal man, I’m a beast. Tha man I am is a brutal mask worn by tha animal within, but he protects his mate … an’ he protects his cubs…”

Her hands on his hair froze. “Cubs…”

Victor struggled to breathe, to calm. “Yer pregnant … with my child,” he spoke in a rasped whisper. “I can smell it, tha change…”

“Oh my God…”

He moved his head to breathe in her scent, filling his lungs with it. “Wasn’t gonna tell ya… I’m sorry fer that… Wanted ya t’ decide before … ya knew.” He yanked himself away from her and grabbed his suit jacket. “Make yer choice. If ya wanna leave, take tha whole damn briefcase, I don’t care – call it … hazard pay.”

“Victor…”

“Whatever ya do … take care o’ yerself. Even if … ya don’t keep it. I won’t hurt ya, I swear I won’t. I can’t.”

“Victor!”

He left her there in tears and went swiftly downstairs, grabbing his coat and slamming the suite door shut behind him. He threathened them to bring the car up fast and drove off with a shriek of tires.

Shifting with a growl, he popped his claws and stabbed them into his thigh as the Bugatti leapt into traffic to a chorus of frantic horns.

_Gotta tell Ellison I’m changin’ tha deal. Can’t pull this shit his way if … she stays. If she … leaves ... I won’t care how many people he wants me to kill._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The French stuff: mon grand (my big guy), mon beau chat (my beautiful cat), and mon cher (my dear). I looked it all up, so if I got it wrong, blame French.About.com. George Clooney and R. Lee Ermey belong to themselves. Nancy Drew belongs to Carolyn Keene. This chapter ate my brain. Sometimes I think I need a Sabey plushie so I can hug it when I’m mean to him. As always, thanks to everyone for reading. I just noticed that this story now clocks in at over 143,600 words. Yikes. I can’t post them until this story is completed, but I am writing other Sabretooth fics for my series; one with Jean Grey, and one with Tony Stark, among others. Yes, I may be nuts. LOL. (@MET_Fic) – AnonGrimm


	12. Becoming

Open door, so I walk inside  
Close my eyes, find my place to hide  
And I shake as I take it in  
Let the show begin

Open my eyes, just to have them close again  
Well on my way, but on my way to where I’ve been  
It swallows me as it takes me in its fog  
I twist away as I give this world the nod

Open door, so I walk inside  
Close my eyes, find my place to hide  
And I shake as I take it in  
Let the show begin

Open my eyes, just to have them closed once again  
Don’t want control  
As it takes me down and down and down again  
Is that the Moon?  
Or just a light that lights this dead-end street?  
Is that you there?  
Or just another demon that I meet?

The higher you are  
The farther you fall  
The longer the walk  
The farther you crawl  
My body, my temple  
This temple, it tilts  
Step into the house that Jack built

~ The House Jack Built (Metallica)

*****************************************************************

She couldn’t move, couldn’t think; from the moment the door downstairs had slammed, her world had turned upside down. Slowly, small sharp pains registered – her bottom lip was bleeding a little and something hard was digging into her hip.

 _Get up; you know he was dead serious about leaving the room. Whatever else you do, you have to leave the room. You have to survive…_  Her shaking hand went to her belly.  _Oh, God… What can I do?_ She almost cried out for Brys. In that moment, if she’d had any way to reach him, he was exactly who she would have called.  _I’m alone in a strange city, I don’t know anyone and no one cares._  It was abruptly tempting to just stay there and wait for Victor to return.  _No, get up. Go out, go somewhere; you have to._

Tabitha pushed herself up off of the sack. She knew it would be stuffed with cash, probably in bricks like in the movies. She left it there and stood, got her balance, and went into the bathroom to clean up a little. Splashing cold water in her face, she grabbed the hand towel and dried off. Her lip had stopped bleeding.

_Try not to look like a trainwreck, and then call the front desk. Clothes, get dressed._

She tried to focus on those things, attacking her curls with fingers only. The towel left in a damp heap on the bathroom counter still smelled like his sandalwood cologne. As she yanked on underthings in the dressing room, she could almost hear his purring voice and half expected to be touched, tasted, and worshipped.

_Shut up, you stupid bitch. That isn’t worship, it’s ownership. Jeans, shirt, boots – these boots were made for walking…_

Grabbing the card key, she hesitated over the sack. Across the room, the other half of the obscene amount of money was sitting in an open briefcase. She’d didn’t want to touch any of it.

 _Take the sack, you idiot, leave the rest._  Tabitha turned and stared at the pile of black luggage with its small silver locks.  _No wallet, no purse_  –  _so go buy them._  She stuck the card key in her front jeans pocket and grabbed the sack before heading downstairs. It wouldn’t fit in her overcoat pocket and she didn’t want to take the fur coat.  _Just carry it. Phone, call the desk. Get a taxi._

She went to the hotel phone on the desk by the windows and froze in the act of reaching for it. Fear threatened to choke her. She looked up the stairs, as if expecting to find him there, staring at her – but he wasn’t there. With trembling fingers, she picked up the handset and pushed zero.

“H-hello?” She told the man her room number and asked for a taxi.

“Miss Smith?” the friendly male voice asked.

“Yes… Is … that okay?”

“I can have a car brought up for you, miss. The driver will take you wherever you’d like to go. Just come to the concierge desk when you’re ready.”

“What does that cost?”

“The car comes with the suite, Miss Smith.”

“Oh. Okay… I’ll be right down.” She leaned on the suite door when it shut behind her.  _Move, damn it._

It was strange not to have him pacing beside her, unnervingly silent for his size and weight. She wanted to collapse and cry, but refused to do it. Finding the concierge, she discovered she didn’t have to tell him who she was. Barely listening to him, she followed him out through the front doors of the hotel. Getting into the backseat of a black Mercedes, she stared at the driver in his suit and hat.

“Miss?”

“Sorry, I guess I need more coffee.” She couldn’t remember him asking her where she wanted to go. “Do you have a shopping mall a ways from here?”

“Pacific Centre, next door?”

“No, another one – farther away.”

“Oakridge Centre is out on West 41st Street.”

“That works.”

“Yes, miss.”

There was a time when having a luxury car and driver wait around while she shopped would have amused and delighted her. Now it was just strange and she couldn’t even focus on it. When she got out, she paused as he held the door for her. “Am I supposed to tip you? I’m sorry, I’m not used to this…”

“No miss, it’s taken care of. May I ask – are you feeling well? Do you need help in some way?”

“Not really. Um, actually, I don’t know Canadian money. Maybe this is nuts, but can you tell me what the exchange rate or whatever is? So I don’t try to pay for something expensive with a twenty?” He was patient, kind, and concerned as he explained, showing no surprise at her sack of cash. “Okay, you are awesome, thanks. Um, just wait for me, okay? I’ll find you here?”

“Yes, miss.”

“Great.”

She rushed off before he could reply. In the first expensive shop she found with purses, she fished some of the bigger bills out and bought a wallet and a big purse. Once, she might have been excited to own a black and gold Prada Gaufre Tessuto tote, clocking in at $1,780 in American dollars. Now it was reduced to camouflage; people tended to let the rules slide for a well-dressed young woman who they thought was rich.

 _Cash is king, too – good thing, because I have no I.D. At least now I have some smaller bills._  Finding a coffee shop, she got a large espresso and sat at one of their little tables.  _What the hell am I going to do? Do I even believe him? Maybe he was lying._  She sat back and groaned.  _You know he wasn’t, you dumbass bitch. He’s been screwing you nearly non-stop for about a month. All the birds and bees say you’re fucked Tab; now what are you going to do?_ Tears threatened, but she couldn’t afford them. Frowning, she burned her mouth a little chugging the coffee and got up.  _They have to have a cell phone store._

It was easy to lie: American tourist, other purse was stolen, had money in her coat at the time. She ended up with what Pete Wisdom would have called a burner phone and walked out to find a ladies room. Sitting on a chair in the ladies lounge, she held the phone and watched it shake in her hands.

 _I have to try, if only to let them know I’m alive – and maybe to see if they even give a shit at all anymore._  She had asked the concierge what the long distance codes were for New York City. The number to the Xavier School had been memorized years ago. When it rang, she immediately hung up in a panic.  _Do I even want to go back? I can’t just leave and not…_ Her free hand pressed against her belly.  _What if they won’t take me back? What if I … want to go back … to him?_

Tabitha got up, paced, ignored the people who came and went to use the stalls and sinks. Only a few of them noticed her at all. One woman, not much older than her, went by with a little girl. She was holding the tiny hand, carrying bags, and talking to her with excitement about meeting back up with daddy soon. Slumping back into the chair, she watched them go in and felt tears wet her eyes. She dialed the string of numbers again.

It rang, picked up, and she fought not to hang up. “Shoot – it’s yer nickle,” a gruff low voice answered.

Tabitha nearly swallowed her tongue.  _Be casual, idiot!_  “Hi … Logan?”

“Tabitha? Long time no. Guthrie ain’t here, darlin’. Unless ya wanted Jubilation?”

“Um…”  _Yes, my God, get off the phone with the mortal fucking enemy of your baby daddy!_  “If she’s around, yeah – yes … please.”

The Wolverine paused and she held her breath. “Ya awright, darlin’? Ya sound upset.”

“I’m fine, just wanted to talk to Jubilee. I miss her.”

“If yer sure. Hey, Bobby! See if Jubilee’s here, huh? She’s gotta call.” It sounded like he was in the kitchen. “He’ll see if she’s ‘round – mighta gone out bladin’. Where ya at, anyhow? Lost track o’ ya after San Francisco. Ya shouldn’t take playin’ dead so serious. Yer not still at that club in Seattle, I hope?”

“What club?”

“Tha one I caught yer scent in ‘bout a month ago. Ya’d probly rather I didn’t specify.”

 _Holy shit._  “No, not there anymore. I … saw you come in. I had to leave, but I … wish I’d gone over to talk to you. Sorry I didn’t.”

“Glad ya left in general, they said ya bailed. If ya want yer last night’s tips, they gave it t’ me t’ hold fer ya. Planned t’ find ya then, but ya fell off tha planet.”

“Okay, wow, embarrassing…”

Logan snorted. “Ain’t none o’ my biz, right? Yer a grown woman.”

“That’s the rumor.”

“Hey, Jubilee went out, ya want t’ jaw with anybody else? Since ya sound homesick an’ all…”

“No, that’s okay. I’ll try her again later. Will you tell her I said hi?”

“Natch. Sure yer okay, darlin’?”

His voice was like a cruel joke; there were differences, but he sounded so much like Victor she was afraid she might start to sob. If he knew … he’d hate her.

“Tabitha … where are ya?”

“I’m … in Detroit.”

“Interestin’.”

“Yeah, it’s riveting, but cold.”

“Interestin’ that yer lyin’ t’ me, I meant. What’s goin’ on? Are ya in trouble?”

“I … I’m fine. Or I will be. Kind of got my heart broken, again; no shock, right? Just missed Jubes, sorry to bother you. Hey, I got to run, okay? I’m about to miss my movie.”

“Take care, darlin’. Holler if ya need any damn thing, ya got it?”

“Oh, okay… I will. Thanks. Bye.” She hung up fast, but about a whole conversation too late.  _Crap. Detroit? What the hell?_  Checking the time on the phone, she cursed again. It had only been one hour.  _I should get in that car and have him drive me to the airport. Shit, I can’t – they’d want a passport, a license, something. I’m here illegally, too. I could buy a car, but same problem applies. Cash for a bus? They could send the jet, but then they’d know…_

She got up and went into one of the stalls at the back. Locking the door, she sat on the toilet and cuddled her new purse stuffed with cash bricks. When the tears started, she decided to let them go and ignored the people who tried to ask if she was all right.

 _Victor… You’ve been so different since … since we got here._  She sniffed and thought about the night before.  _I needed to say no, I had to know I could. I fucked up… You were … so different. I’m supposed to make a decision, but I don’t know what to do. How can I know in just a few hours? This isn’t just a stay or go question, damn you._

Tabitha got up, wiped her face, left the stall and tried to remember where the car was. She knew she should figure out how to get back to the States, at least. She could always find the seedy side of town, ask around to see who could get her a fake I.D. and passport. Or just find a library and hack one of their computers to get what she needed.

 _Or, just buy a damn laptop, you moron. What about you?_  she asked, touching her belly.

All at once, so many things Victor had said and done made perfect sense. Cursing herself under her breath as she pushed the glass doors open, she stopped at the curb and watched the black Mercedes approach. She let the driver open her door and then told him to take her to Stanley Park. She left him at the Teahouse and went walking.

~ ~ ~

The bridge where Victor had taken her, kissed her and held her against him was empty. She couldn’t walk out onto it. Turning the other way, she asked a jogger for directions and walked out to the end of the forest where she could see the water. Cyclists and joggers moved up and down the seawall path. She had to clamber down a hill to reach it. Walking along it until she found a small patch of beach with logs on the sand, she got down to them and sat on one to watch the ships and barges go by in the distance.

 _I feel so alone, but I guess I’m not. Weird. So, would you have a tail? Fangs? Grow up to be a sadistic killer like daddy?_  The tears threatened again. She slipped the phone out of her pocket just to check the time.  _Almost three hours. He said go somewhere, he never said be there when he gets back. If I’m not, will he assume I’m halfway to New York? The job is supposed to be done tonight…_

She kept hearing things and imagining him appearing, maybe from the trees like she had. He’d said he wouldn’t hunt her down, but was he lying?

_I don’t even know what time the job was supposed to start, because he never told me. I guess if it’s time and I’m not there … maybe that’ll be that. If – big, big if – he actually doesn’t hunt me down … I might never see him again. He’ll be off to Nepal and then who knows where. I’ll have some doozy souvenirs, though_ _– most of which will probably mean I can’t go home again… Was it ever home, though? I’m not exactly heading for a bus station as fast as the Prada boots he bought me can take me…_

Tabitha got up and started walking again. She found some stairs back up to the trails and headed back toward the Teahouse and the hotel’s car.

 _I haven’t technically earned the bag of cash I’m lugging around, either…_  Her tongue touched the sore spot on her bottom lip where his fang had pierced it.  _I need more time, and I … need to talk to him, if he’ll listen. If I’ve already burned the bridges behind me, maybe I can build a new one? Maybe … he is changing._

The driver had the door held open for her before she even spotted him at the Teahouse. “Where to, Miss Smith?”

“Back to the hotel, please.”

“Yes, miss.”

~ ~ ~

“Thanks for your help and patience today,” she told the driver.

He gave her a short bow. “My pleasure, miss.”

The moment she entered the hotel, her hands began to tremble. She returned to the concierge desk. “Do you know if Mr. Creed has come back yet?”

“We haven’t seen him, Miss Smith.”

“Okay, thanks.”

Tabitha couldn’t face going back up to the room yet. She knew that when he returned he’d be able to scent that she’d left and come back, and he’d know where she was now. She headed to a coffee shop. Remembering the phone, she nearly panicked. If he saw the number she’d called… When a waiter went by with a used half full cup, she waved him over and plunked the little phone into the cold coffee.

“Miss?”

“I don’t need it anymore.”

“Yes, miss. May I get you anything?”

“Espresso with tons of sugar and cream – and a cupcake.”

“Right away, miss.”

She could see the lobby doors from the table she chose and she didn’t have to worry about getting fat anymore – that would take care of itself.

~ ~ ~

Perhaps an hour later, she heard the car; there was no mistaking it. It rolled up fast beyond the glass lobby doors and stopped just out of sight at the valet podium with a screech of tires.

Tabitha kept her hands wrapped around her second hot coffee in a vain attempt to hide the tremble of her fingers. When he came into sight, she held her breath. His entrance into the lobby caused a stir, as if a rock star had arrived – a volatile one.

It wasn’t obvious, but she knew he’d already caught her scent. Within seconds, his head turned and his luminous amber gaze locked onto her. The surprise came when he didn’t immediately charge over, angry and growling. He froze, staring back at her. Letting out her held breath, she lifted one hand and motioned to him to join her. The closer he came, the more people around them moved to a safer distance. They were all smarter than she was.

The Armani suit looked like it wasn’t damaged at first, until she noticed four small cuts in the thigh of the left pant leg. Otherwise, he seemed okay – but the relaxed and warm way he’d looked at her yesterday, all smiles and purrs, was gone.

_Maybe he was changing; is it too late?_

“Are ya bait now? How long ‘til they get here?”

“I’m not bait. They aren’t coming. I’m here because you wouldn’t talk to me this morning when I asked you to. Will you talk to me now?”

“Up in tha suite.”

“No, Victor, here – where lots of other people are.”

His expressive face morphed into one of the nastier narrow-eyed haughty glares, a growl riding low in his chest. “Ya think I won’t slash every throat here t’ get a one-on-one chat? Ain’t airin’ my private shit in public, girl.”

“Private topics can wait, okay? No one is lingering anywhere near us, anyhow. If I wanted to leave you, I could have. I didn’t, I came back.”

“T’ tha lobby, where ya think ya got me on a leash.”

“I’d never be stupid enough to think I had a leash on you. If anything, you still have one on me. You know I don’t want you to hurt anyone here. Did you expect to find me gone or maybe shivering on my knees upstairs? I aimed for the middle. You said leave, so I left. I had no idea the suite came with a car and driver, but I bet you knew. I went to a mall and got a wallet and purse. Mostly, I cried in a bathroom. I went back to the park, and then came back here to talk to you. Please talk with me?”

Growling, he grabbed one of the wooden chairs. She knew he’d spin it and straddle it with his arms crossed on the back. It creaked alarmingly under his weight. “Talk fast – those Blackbird jets are mighty quick.”

She ignored the crack. “I can’t make the choice you want me to in a couple of hours. After how you left, what you said … the decision just got a lot bigger than it was. We can’t sort that out with tonight hanging over our heads, either. That’s your ‘bottom line’, and I have no intention of messing that up.”

“What tha hell do ya want, Tabitha?”

She took her hands off of the coffee cup and gripped the fancy purse in her lap. “I want to earn this, fair and square. I turned my back on being a thief a long time ago. I want to earn it as a job, not on my back or on my knees. When the job is over – then I want time to make my decision. I get paid and I walk, you don’t follow, you don’t hunt me. You give me a week and then you meet me somewhere. If I show, it’s a yes; if I don’t … you don’t even try to find out why.”

“In a week, I’ll be in either New Orleans, Berlin, or Cape Town – with a side trip t’ Nepal.”

“New Orleans it is, then – Café Du Monde for breakfast. If you agree, I’ll go upstairs with you and look at maps and blueprints. Maybe after that or even tomorrow, I’d like to talk about last night – and this morning. Also… Victor, I want you to understand this – either I’m my own person, with you because I want to be, or I’m just a mess stuck in your claws. There is no middle ground on that. We don’t touch each other unless both of us want it. You need to know if I want you for real. This is how you find out – by letting it be my choice.”

He watched her in silence for a long moment. “That’s a heavy pack o’ ultimatums.”

“I’m just asking you to treat me like a free person who can choose to stay because she wants to. You said you wanted that. I understand it can be scary, I’m shaking in my Prada boots – but I could’ve climbed onto a bus. I kept … hanging around, thinking about you.”

When the growl stopped, he rose. “Ya gotta deal – which’ll be off in a hurry, first flyin’ monkey I see.”

“I think I burned that bridge the moment I let you have me because I wanted you. I’m not your victim or your captive now – choosing you … may be a choice they can’t forgive. Besides, I mostly hung with them to have something to do and to feel like I could make a difference. You’ve shown me a lot of ugly truths and I don’t think I believe helping people that hate me makes much difference anymore. It certainly didn’t mean a thing to Vaughn. I did my homework on this job. I believe it will make a difference; it will help people to stop this plant from going into production. For the rest, I need more time.”

“Keepin’ off ya ain’t never been easy fer me…”

Tabitha gave him a tentative smile. “Learn to ask first; play your cards right and the answer could be yes more often than you might think.”

She walked off first and she could feel him following her, even if he never made a sound. He was silent in the elevator and down the hall. Her card key opened the suite door despite the tremor of her fingers. The thought that he might kill her the moment they were alone had grown into a palpable tension between them. She walked in, set the purse on the table and turned to face him as he shut the door and leaned against it.

Because she could, she let her eyes sweep over him. The ponytail was wind-blown and that stubborn long lock of hair that never stayed in it was hanging in his face again. She wanted to approach and brush it behind his ear, but she didn’t move. He was watching her with that hungry focus, his body just as hungry.

“Maps?” she asked.

He shot her a look that was half glare and half lust. With a grunt, he left the door and went to the large steamer trunk that was still set beneath the window. The combination lock’s numbers spun and he unlocked and opened it. When he pulled out a long metal tube, she could see the tip of a rifle case below it. He opened the tube as he approached the table and pulled out a rolled sheaf of maps and plans – the same ones she’d studied at the safe house.

“Tell me where ya thought yer bombs would do tha most damage an’ I’ll tell ya if yer right.”

Tabitha moved to stand closer and looked at the plans. She had been prepared for him to want sex, if he didn’t try to kill her – what she hadn’t banked on was how much she wanted him, too. It would change her scent, make it tougher for him, but she couldn’t help that.

 _Ask me, Victo_ _r… I’m so sorry if I fucked up and picked the worst time to insist on a choice_ _, but I’m not sorry I asked for one. You know I want you … just ask._  “I would target these condensers, the reactor, this boiler, and the reaction furnace.”

“Not bad, I agree. Prob is gettin’ ya t’ each spot an’ not gettin’ ya caught in a fallin’ hunk o’ metal an’ concrete. Ain’t as fast as me by a long shot.”

“I don’t have to be fast. I place the timebombs one by one and then set them off from a safe location. That’s the ‘time’ part of the things.”

With a sneer twisting his expression, he replied in a flat, insulting tone, “Point t’ tha frail.”

Tabitha felt like he’d gut-punched her. As anger rose to cover her hurt, she abruptly understood him better than she ever had. “Don’t call me that.” He watched her as if seeing what she’d do – when she didn’t move, he walked away to face the windows.

“If ya did yer homework, then ya know what this pilot plant’s bein’ built fer.”

“Chlorine trifluoride – some of the nastiest stuff any idiot’s ever dreamed up. That’s why I want to help.”

“They ain’t done buildin’ yet, so it’ll be a lot safer t’ burn it t’ tha ground now; I woulda turned tha job down if they were already producin’ that shit. ‘Explodes ‘round damn near anythin’ organic’ ain’t a party favor I wanna play with.”

“When are we supposed to start?”

“Need t’ leave at sundown; gotta good while ‘til then. Was tha cupcake lunch?”

“So far.”

“I’ll call fer a cart. All o’ this sudden freedom mean ya wanna make yer own order?”

“No, I don’t.”

“Fine, then.” He didn’t move and neither did she.

“This is how it works, okay? Victor … can I touch you?”

“No.”

Tears rose in her eyes. She backed away and sat on the couch before her knees could buckle. “Why not?”

“Got me a few reasons, not one o’ which is any o’ yer biz.”

“You want it – it’s pretty obvious...”

“Answer’s still no.” A low growl thrummed from his chest. “Ya think a stiff dick means jack right now? Mighta had a shot at slippin’ a collar on tha beast, but ‘is bein’ happy t’ see ya don’t mean ya ain’t gotta deal with me first.”

“I don’t want to put a collar on you. You know, sometimes I think I’ve just gone stark raving nuts – for coming back here, or even for wanting and missing you in the first place. Do I have to remind you that ‘our first time’ involved you brutally raping me? That happened a few times, actually, but you were too busy calling it ‘making myself useful’ to notice. You threatened me into agreeing to your terms as a partner on this job, one clause of which was the ‘right’ to turn me into your whore. Meanwhile, you were planning to murder me after the job. Just for kicks, you decided to make my life a living hell – until we got here. So obviously, you aren’t the only insane person in this room.”

“Ya ain’t never gonna understand...” He wouldn’t face her. “My nature’s not like … people.”

“Help me, then. Tell me why you did that.”

“Did it cuz we were enemies. It was payback. Ya weren’t nothin’ but one o’ Cueball’s bitches t’ toy with ‘til ya quit wigglin’.”

“I have only a vague idea why you now say you want me, but I wonder if it’s just because you got me pregnant. Although why you would care about a child is frankly beyond me.”

When he finally turned, it was to glare at her, his large hands fisted at his sides. “Ya don’t hardly know me at all; ya think ya do. Maybe yer just not capable o’ understandin’ what ya did t’ me in tha bloody Danger Room. All o’ that was piled on top o’ what yer X-chumps did before an’ after ya, too. Maybe takin’ out all their sins on yer hide ain’t ‘fair’, but my nature don’t think much ‘bout that shit. Was gonna reel ya in, get ya t’ care an’ then gut ya.”

“That’s … horrific. Why?”

“Cuz tha look on yer face woulda been even sweeter if ya had feelin’s fer me before I did it.”

“Victor…” she whispered, fear turning her veins to ice.

“Don’t look at me like that; ya fuckin’ know damn well it ain’t like that no more. Ya been trusted with stuff maybe two other folks alive ‘sides us know ‘bout me – unless ya count Cueball, who felt he had a right t’ hit my brain with tha kind o’ mind-reamin’ torture that woulda made tha Gestapo blush. I seem t’ recall ya viewed that as ‘they were helpin’ me’.”

“I thought they were. I didn’t know. I told you a few times that I was just a B team player. I’ve barely ever spoken to that man. The biggest interest he ever personally took in me was during their stupid intervention to make me stop visiting you. Then they deleted my access, so you know, waste of an intervention. Why did you change your … plans … for me?”

“Yer tha one that changed tha game – ya stepped up an’ ya wouldn’t just lie down an’ die. When I knew ya were carryin’ my child, an’ even before that … I was tryin’ t’ imagine ya as my mate. Wouldn’t bother with bein’ all nice after we got here if I wasn’t. Sick o’ bein’ alone.”

“If you still had Bonnie, you probably would have killed me in my hotel room in Faro and maybe mailed my head to Professor Xavier. You know I’m right. I’m not stupid – I know when I’m playing rebound girl. I just happen to be a pregnant rebound girl, or you might still have been planning to kill me. Even if that has changed, I am always going to be at risk – if not from you, intentional or by accident, then by your enemies. I can’t stop you being paranoid that I could be bait and you can’t stop me from worrying about being killed in your sleep.”

“So why’d ya come back –”

She held up a hand to stop him, drew in a breath and let it go in a sigh. “In spite of that, and this is my crazy talking, some of the things you’ve taught me and how you’ve been since we got to Vancouver have changed things for me. I think I do believe you want me with you, but I still need time to decide. We already spent our morning finding out how difficult this could be.”

Victor frowned. “Ya wanna eat or not?”

“Yes…”

He didn’t look at her when he went to the phone. He ordered fancy filet steaks for them both and she was surprised to hear him order vegetables and fruits. When he put the phone down, his fingers pressed on the handset. “I ain’t gotta scrap o’ hope t’ stand on here, do I?”

“Please tell me why you’re so angry with me...”

“I gotta wait a week t’ hear if yer gonna kill my cub?”

“I … I don’t know what I’m going to do. We need to get through tonight first. I think I want you; if I didn’t, I wouldn’t have come back. I have to figure out if that’s the choice that keeps me alive or not.”

As he turned to face her again, his shoulders slumped a little; the defeated look on his face broke her heart. “If tha answer’s no an’ I don’t get t’ ‘even try t’ find out why’, that mean I get t’ just never know what ya decide t’ do ‘bout it?”

“How would I tell you, if I need to walk away?”

Victor went back to the trunk and fished around in it. She was shocked to see him pull out her old leather purse. He took her gray Nokia phone out of it and turned it on. He dropped the purse – nowhere near as expensive as the one she’d bought with his money – on the table next to the Prada tote. He checked something on her phone, turned it off, and dropped it back into the purse.

“Told Brys t’ put my number on it before we left tha safe house. Probly where he got tha idea I was gettin’ ‘fond o’ ya’.”

“Victor, I’m sorry for upsetting you last night. I should have just given you what you needed, and then waited for breakfast and a less intense moment to discuss choice and consent. I fucked up. It wasn’t a rejection of you. When you wanted to be close and share with me, I…” She dropped her gaze from his to stare at her fingers twisting together in her lap. “That was just the newest thing that made me think I could want to really try…”

He walked over and sat a few feet from her. She didn’t dare touch him. “Yer so young, ya know that? Barely more’n a cub yerself. I think time an’ culture started goin’ backwards. In a lotta ways, includin’ legally, I was all grown up at fifteen, when today’s laws woulda called me a kid. Back then, twenty-three was pretty close t’ middle-age; now, tha law says yer an adult but half tha time ya behave like yer a kid. It can be a twisty mess, ‘specially when tossin’ my crazy bullshit int’ tha mix.”

“Do you know anything about babies or being pregnant?”

“Only one I ever knew ‘bout was grown before I knew. Ain’t never been preg, myself. Bet tha kooky cravin’s would be off tha chain fer me, though. Yak penis an’ ice cream, maybe?”

She was startled into a smile as her tears began to fall. Wiping at them impatiently, she shook her head, but didn’t look at him.

“Tabitha?”

She sniffed. “Yeah…?”

“Can I touch ya?”

Sucking in a breath, she turned to stare at him. “Yes, Victor…”

His fingers rose to brush at tears and when she pressed her cheek into his palm, he pulled her in to hold her close. She let him put her right onto his lap and then sobbed against his chest. Her curls were stroked and his other hand was warm on her lower back.

“Freaked out this mornin’ – didn’t mean t’ terrify ya.”

“I never meant to freak you out,” she whispered. “I’m sorry I didn’t realize you could … feel for me, like that – or at all. I thought I was just, you know…”

“Warm snatch?” He kissed her curls.

“Yeah, pretty much.”

“Ya gonna acknowledge tha mutual risks in this mess?”

“Yes, I’m starting to understand. I guess giving me my cell phone back must put your hackles up.”

“Literally an’ figuratively.”

“Wow, I’m hungry; I assume the plants you ordered are for me?”

“Not gonna catch me eatin’ weeds unless I’m tryin’ t’ cough up a hairball.”

Tabitha laughed and sniffed again. “Please tell me that’s a joke.”

“That’s a joke.”

“As long as I’m admitting to being as crazy as you, we may as well run with it. So, after lunch … do we have time to seal the deal in bed?”

“We can make time, darlin’. Figure if I lay ya good ‘nuff , ya might miss it too much t’ go without fer a whole week.”

“I missed you today and that was just for a few hours.”

“Missed me while in terror I might be comin’ after ya?”

“Only a little…?”

When the cart arrived, Victor let the servers set it up and then sent them out with a tip. He put the plate with greens on it at her chair. Tabitha didn’t look in the purses – she just moved them both to the couch and then sat at the table.

“So much food…”

“Ya might talk me int’ helpin’ ya with tha oranges an’ strawberries, but yer on yer own fer tha rest.”

“Do you just not like veggies?”

“Ain’t made fer that stuff; bad ‘nuff  I gotta candy an’ snack chips addiction – that shit is my crack.”

“I really did miss you – I missed hearing you and … well, not hearing you.”

“Got me back, babe, fer as long as ya want.”

“When you called me ‘frail’ again…”

“Once I get ya in that bed, gonna convince ya I didn’t mean that. Eat, yer feedin’ two now; don’t worry, anythin’ we dunno ‘bout this, we can find out.”

She ate, but she also watched him eat. His plate had four filets on it that might as well have had the hooves still attached. Spearing them with claws and shearing them up at the sides of his mouth behind the fangs was perhaps the weirdest boyfriend behavior she’d ever found charming, but it abruptly was.

_I didn’t want to be alone in this and now I’m not. Maybe the X-Men won’t ever understand, but what have they done for me beyond room and board while risking my life on missions? I know there are still problems to sort out and insane compromises to make, but if I get to live in Hawaii with our kid, travel to meet him, and live like a queen? Maybe I could overlook a lot, including being his rebound girl – and someday, he might change…_

The vegetables tasted like heaven and before they went off on the mission, which they were going to work together, he would lay her down and make her feel like a goddess.

_Afterward, he’ll talk to me_ _, and he’ll watch me like a starving man watches a feast_ _. We’ll just see where it goes and work at it. That’s what couples do._

Tabitha leaned over with a slice of orange in her fingers and offered it to him. He moved closer to her, slid his long tongue out and licked the fruit before allowing her to feed it to him. By the time he straightened and speared the last filet, she was already wet for him. He smirked at her and gave her a wink with one luminous amber cat’s eye.

_He knows it and I’m … glad he does. I need to work on not mixing my signals. The scent and the words need to match, as he says. I think maybe that’s how he learns to trust._

She had help with the fruit but ate every bit of the steak and vegetables. He had beer and he’d ordered water for her, but she didn’t fuss.

When he pushed his chair out, Tabitha got up and sat on his lap while he finished the beer. She placed her hand on her belly. A moment later, he covered it with his. Ducking his head down, he nuzzled her shoulder; the purr she had missed sparked and made her shiver with lust.

Tabitha gave him a soft little smile when she saw him watching her, almost studying her. His expression seemed caught between worry and cautious hope.

_That’s how he looked when I came to the couch while he had the war movie on. I rejected the idea that he could be nervous about me, because, well – he’s Sabretooth. Maybe I have broken past all of the prickly and downright violent defenses? It’s like he’s afraid I’ll hurt … him. Wow. Does anyone else know that he can be this way?_

“Startin’ t’ understand why those nosy fuckin’ telepaths poke an’ snoop where they ain’t been invited. Half a million fer yer thoughts?”

“I was thinking that people often misjudge you.”

Victor snorted. “No, they don’t. Most o’ ‘em got me pegged right on tha money.”

“Okay, tough guy, your secrets are safe with me – with or without threats. They never see this side of you. These ‘soft little underbelly’ things are as much a part of you as the violence and … the rest.”

“Most things breathin’ ain’t got no right t’ see tha softer side o’ yers truly. Ya paid yer dues, stepped up an’ knocked tha door down. Ya quit lookin’ at me like I’m some kinda ugly piece o’ filth, too. That shit don’t inspire a guy t’ open up ‘is tender bits an’ share.”

“You’re a feral mutant, Victor, but you’re certainly not ugly. I spend a lot of time watching you precisely because you’re hot as hell.” His purr returned and intensified, the thrum in his throat near her neck making her embarrassingly wet. “Those sounds you make, how powerful and fearless you can be – not to mention getting to play boss of all of that – it’s intoxicating. When you aren’t being … violent and abusive … a girl can fall for you pretty hard. I hope that’s mutual … even a little bit?”

“Told ya before, on that couch right over there, that I could fall fer ya, didn’t I? Guess ya thought I was lyin’.”

“In my defense, you had declared shortly before then that we were going to ‘play couple’.”

“Fair ‘nuff.” He pulled her gently into a closer embrace, his fingers lacing with hers over her belly. “I want this cub,” he told her, his near-whispering voice softened by the purr. “Want ya both.”

“I wouldn’t have guessed you would want a baby. It wasn’t exactly a plan on my agenda. Was it – a plan … on your end?”

“Nope.”

Tabitha fell silent. The reason for his short answer was obvious.  _It didn’t matter if it was a risk, because his plan was to kill me. Something about being pregnant changed that – probably a lot more than my door-kicking-down stubbornness to survive._  “Why … do you want a baby?”

“Well, it ain’t cuz I wanna snack.”

“I was so not thinking that.”

“Hmm… Most folks would wonder, I bet.” He was quiet but she didn’t press. Finally, he drew in a breath and started again. “After Bonnie … lotta shit is diff’rent now in my head, got thoughts runnin’ amuck in there I ain’t never seen before. Had no idea somebody could want me like that.”

“I told you that you wanted more,” she whispered, hoping to prompt him to keep talking.

“Ya were right. Wasn’t plannin’ fer it, but … there it was. After she was gone … I hit a bad low. Ignorance is bliss, babe – not knowin’ what I was missin’, wished pretty hard I could go back t’ not knowin’. Figged it would go away, tha thoughts, tha wantin’ more… It ain’t budged. Was thinkin’ ‘bout keepin’ ya prior, but with tha X branded on yer ass, knew it was probly pointless. Then after I knocked ya up… Shit, I dunno, instinct makin’ my inner kitty wanna brood, maybe? I need … somethin’ – a reason t’ try. Way ya started actin’, smellin’ like ya want me fer real – I gotta try, cuz it might never happen again.”

Tabitha relaxed into him; she hadn’t noticed her body growing tense in his hold, but of course, he would have. “I’m going to help you succeed.” She squeezed their laced fingers tighter. “This can’t possibly be a baby bump yet, can it?”

“Just bloat, cuz tha body has t’ get ready an’ there’s hormones an’ gases an’ junk at work fer that.”

“I thought you were as clueless as me?”

“Ain’t never gonna be as clueless as ya, Miss Observant. Ya plannin’ on bailin’ in tha mornin’ fer yer thinkin’ break?”

“I – I don’t know…”

“If ya just wanna stay with me, make yer decision in style, I could take ya t’ tha Hawaii safe house on tha way out t’ Nepal.”

“Let’s worry about that tomorrow. By the way, what are you going to be doing while I’m placing timebombs in strategic spots?”

“Committin’ arson in tha office buildin’: records, process control room, mainly. Def gotta turn tha lab int’ a smokin’ hole, an’ then wreck their tanker trucks an’ a couple other structures. While tha firetrucks are dealin’ with that, nice an’ outta our way, I’ll head fer tha process plant buildin’ an’ help ya finish it off.”

“Are we cutting power to the place, phones, all that?”

“Nope, not even gonna bother; tha neighbors’ll be tha ones callin’. We want tha big red trucks an’ tha cops; it adds t’ tha confusion.”

“We aren’t killing anyone … right?”

“Right. Trick is bein’ quick on tha draw with tha wreckin’ shit, so’s by tha time they get there, won’t be no savin’ tha place. Tha client bribed most o’ tha construction workers an’ security; gonna be a skeleton crew o’ tha paid off variety, an’ then they’ll abandon tha place by six. Turns out, lotsa folks don’t want that crap bein’ made in their backyard, an’ everybody can use tha extra holiday cash. One o’ tha tree-hugger clients is gonna smuggle in a few party favors fer me, t’ help move things along.”

“Oh, okay; thanks for actually telling me all of this.”

“Ya gotta know tha plan, partner.”

“Does that mean I can hear about the client?” When he hesitated, she added, “I already told you I approve of what he’s trying to do.”

“How’d ya know it’s a he?”

“Well, it’s this Ellison, isn’t it? You said big cat rescue was his ‘hobby’. You’ve never been that secretive on your business calls and even in Japanese, that’s the only name you’ve ever mentioned besides Obinata the banker and Tony Stark. Right?”

Victor smirked at her. “Sexy, ambitious, an’ clever – my fave kinda gal.”

“Funny, I’d have accused you of preferring ‘silent, barefoot, and pregnant’. I’m not sure I count as ambitious.”

“Tha price tag fer yer help is pretty ambitious; ya also said ya wanted t’ be more than just my pet pussy. So, I’m thinkin’, down tha road, contract gal lessons – fer protection jobs, natch. Just t’ keep ya busy when ya ain’t barefoot an’ preg. Ya ain’t never silent.”

Tabitha stuck her tongue out at him. “I know all about birth control, dude, believe it or not. Just my luck I was taking a pill hiatus when you came along. I’m thinking, down the road, I’ll need a diamond of my very own before junior has company.”

“Only one?” he teased, nuzzling her neck again.

“We may have to remove the word ‘brood’ from your vocabulary, dude, unless you’re just talking about diamonds. Victor?”

“Hmm?”

“Will you take me to bed now and make me never want to leave you ever?”

“That’s my other plan.” He turned his head to kiss her, giving her a hungry growl when she nipped his lower lip in her teeth.

She was picked up as he stood and she clung to him as he went straight up the stairs. When he set her down at the foot of the bed and they both helped each other strip, she gasped as she was pressed under his weight on the bed before he moved down her body, tongue lashing and licking all the way. She watched his large hands, the roping veins and massive muscles of his arms, and then closed her eyes when his tongue entered her.

“Maybe I’d need therapy to grasp how I can want this after everything that’s happened,” she muttered, “but I’d require the therapist to experience your tongue before they’d be allowed to shrink me about it.”

His low chuckle so close to her slick skin nearly made her come. “Pick a cute one, then; man, woman – don’t matter none t’ me.”

“I’ve noticed that about you,” she teased. “I can’t even argue about the one-sided monogamy thing too hard, because I … don’t want anybody else.” He couldn’t answer her just then, but that was perfectly all right with her.

The moment he moved up and entered her, smooth and gentle, she felt tears prick her eyes.

“What’s wrong?” he whispered in her ear, with his long back curled over her and his face hidden in her curls.

“I-I’m not ready to say it, but … I want to.”

He pulled back his head to look in her eyes. “Not gonna push or try t’ rush yer choice…”

“What is it? What are you thinking?”

“If ya end up sayin’ no … this could be tha last time. I ain’t ready fer that.”

“Me either… I wish I hadn’t upset you; I’m so sorry, Victor…”

“Hush, babe, I got ya,” he whispered, kissing the tears as they fell.

As she quieted, she kissed him and clung to him, slowly realizing that this was also what he could be – making love, gentle and sweet. For the first time, she was able to feel it build slowly; a soft and unbelievable orgasm swelled and burst over her like the sensation of being drunk on the man inside of her.

He broke the kiss and slowed to a stop, his mouth opening as if in shock. She almost asked if he was okay and then felt him shudder within – coming without a growl or roar, without the need for pain to help him feel pleasure. Afterward, he simply melted, resting his forehead on her shoulder as his breathing ramped up faster.

Tabitha stroked his hair, a few fingers toying with the ponytail as he moved her curls with his gasps. He didn’t leave her body and she loved to feel him inside. She didn’t want their closeness to end.

*****************************************************************

“Tabitha, please,” he whispered. He felt her hands gently stroking him as his stomach flipped, the scent of his own fear making his pulse race.

“Victor, it was so beautiful, I’ve never felt it like that before… Talk to me, are you okay? Tell me what you need.”

“Ya … I need ya…” His fangs parted her curls as his lips moved to whisper at her ear, “Tabitha … I love ya…” He swallowed hard; it felt like he couldn’t breathe. He could scent her tears again but she didn’t smell afraid – only he did.

“I … love you, Victor. You’re shivering…” She reached for a blanket and pulled it mostly over his back, as far as she could toss it.

His mind swimming, he concentrated on breathing. They were both silent and when he felt able, he began to move inside her again. She held his head and lifted her knees higher, trying to move with him. Heat sparked fresh and he hardened once more as he pushed in just a little deeper.

“Don’t wanna hurt ya,” he muttered. “Need more…”

“It’s okay, you aren’t hurting me. Do you – need to … bite?”

“No,” he answered, barely able to form the word. “Not safe…”

“Victor, are you all right? Please talk to me, let me help…?”

His stomach swooped and flipped again; he began counting breaths in his head. By the third, the healing factor burned the nausea away but it couldn’t stop the fear.

“Are you – I don’t know if I should even ask this… Are you – afraid?”

He nodded once, unable to admit it verbally. “Dunno if I can do this. If ya go, they’ll tell ya t’ stay away, tell ya t’ never come back an’ t’ kill our cub…”

“Oh, Victor, no … there is no ‘them’ now. I won’t go back to them. Listen, I want to travel somewhere to think, that’s all. No one can tell me to do those things. We can talk about it. Kiss me?”

He lifted his head to kiss her, her mouth luring his body to thrust. He kept it smooth, but pushed deeper than he had. She couldn’t take all of him without pain, couldn’t endure his full forceful lust without courting injury. Yet she looked at him differently now and her scent was warm for him, even when the thread of her heat wasn’t running through it.

Pushing to make her come, he tumbled her into it haphazardly and intensely before ramping her up again. Her little blunt nails bit into his shoulders and the pain helped. Inspiration and abrupt hunger made him gasp.

“You need to come.”

Staring down into her eyes, he asked for what he needed. “Bite my throat…”

“Ah, you never…” She took a deep breath and let it out slow. “Okay,” she whispered.

Fingers were not teeth and instinct lashed inside him to fight as he leaned down and raised his chin, exposing his throat and offering it to her. She set her lips, his Adam’s apple moving under them as he swallowed hard. The moment she touched her teeth to his flesh, the growl rumbled beneath. She hesitated, and then bit down more.

“Harder,” he urged, “need it t’ hurt.”

He hissed when she tried to bite to hurt, but it fired his nerves into lust and began to calm the rising fear. His thrusts picked up and her scent was still saturated with heat. They moved together and she started to mix warm kisses with the bites. Her fingernails dug into his biceps, actually making little half-moon shaped cuts that healed around her nails until she dragged them down into long scratches. His skin felt hot as the scratches healed in her wake.

She gasped and tried to cling to him with trembling legs when he pushed too deep. Backing off, he dropped his forehead to her chest and pumped into her fast and shallow.

With a groan, she huffed at his ear. “Yes, Victor, yes … I need to feel it…”

The growl deepened and he had to struggle not to bite. This time it was no phantom soft pleasure that had driven him into a place within that he hadn’t understood. This was snapping lust, coiled to burst. He felt her muscles grip him as she came again and it tore his ejaculate loose so hard that it punched the breath from his lungs. Heart hammering, he sucked in air, threw his head back and snarled.

When he stilled and collapsed over her, he barely remembered to hold his weight off with his hands at the sides of her ribcage. Pulling his hips back, he withdrew from her body with a hiss before flopping over to his back.

Tabitha cuddled up close, mostly draped over him as his sides heaved in labored breaths. She kissed his chest and laid her head on it. “It’s kind of fun to see you looking worn out after sex, even though I know you’re actually not. Is that because I’m awesome in bed?”

“Cuz I actually give a damn ‘bout ya an’ stress ramps tha body up as much as anythin’ physical.”

“So is that a no on the awesome question?” She poked him in the chest and smiled.

“That was a straight answer t’ what ya asked. Would ya rather I tell ya tha truth ‘bout stuff, or just blow sunshine up yer ass?”

“Truth, please, and point taken. Um … stress?”

“Yup.”

“Oh...”

“Dunno many males who get excited t’ hear tha ‘I need t’ think ‘bout it’ answer. Seems t’ only be a favorite o’ tha females o’ tha species.” Glancing down at her, he frowned. “Ya got ‘question face’ – shoot...”

“Are you going back to the Yukon house right after the job is over, to take the snow leopard to Nepal?”

Victor closed his eyes. “Depends on ya an’ what ya do. If ya said ya wanted me t’ take ya t’ Paris fer a week, my schedule might hafta go fuck itself; ‘specially if it meant … ya were choosin’ me…”

“Can I ask…?” She fell silent for a few moments, but he didn’t press. “Why did you … say it? I mean, why now? The L-word?”

“Lesbian?”

“What?”

“Ya never saw  _Scott Pilgrim Vs. tha World_? See, ya need me fer yer cultural education.”

In a quiet and subdued tone, she asked, “Are we pretending it didn’t happen?”

Victor sighed and lifted his head to kiss her curls before settling again. “I never got tha chance … before, with Bonnie. I was an idiot. If ya go, if ya don’t … come back … I need ya t’ know it.” Huffing out a breath, he added, “Ain’t gonna just whip that out three times a day –”

“No, I understand.” She lifted her head and he opened his eyes to meet her gaze. “Would it make you feel better if I came back to the Yukon house with you and just stayed behind there for my week while you go to Nepal? You could return there to get me on the way to New Orleans. Then we could work out what to do from there?”

“Bypassin’ Berlin an’ Cape Town on tha way? Yer def gettin’ a world map in yer stockin’; I’ll drop a hint t’ Santa. Why would ya wanna go back there?”

“I miss Brys. I admit, I might even miss Perrin – a tiny eensy bit. When you left me this morning, all I wanted to do, all I could think of, was to go cry on Brys and ask his advice.”

“Ya wouldn’t consider ‘is opinion just a bit skewed in my favor? Suspect ‘im o’ not bein’ real impartial? I sign ‘is paycheck an’ own ‘is roof, ya know.”

“I’d just like to see him again. Wouldn’t you feel less worried about me leaving forever if I did my thinking there?”

“Yeah, I would. I can put their number in yer phone.”

“Thanks, I’d like that.”

“Ya already know tha location, may as well. That way, if I gotta jet off cuz somethin’ came up, Brys can come get ya in one o’ tha choppers. If I’d known ya were that fond o’ tha froggy sap, I mighta worried less ‘bout ya droppin’ flyin’ monkeys on ‘is head. At least those boys won’t try t’ screw ya.”

Tabitha leaned in and kissed him. “You are a trip, dude. So are we showering or having a leisurely soak?”

“Gonna get all sweaty an’ dusty on Operation: Down t’ tha Chickens; I’d rather nap while ya cuddle me.”

“Could you push your post-job schedule back to squeeze in Christmas in the Yukon?”

“I might be able t’ arrange that. Do I gotta wear a silly hat?”

“Only if you want to.”

She moved to lie on her back and Victor rolled to his side and curled himself around her. “Told Ellison it might take a while t’ coax tha leopard int’ tha jet. What he dunno won’t make me care if he minds.”

“So, what is our client like…? What’s his deal?”

“Kenton Ellison, eco-terrorist t’ some, planet liberator t’ others; he’s an annoyin’ vegan from an old money family who’re probly embarrassed he’s their kin. Good chunk o’ ‘is inherited cash greases tha palms o’ lobbyists in my country an’ yers an’ when that won’t get ‘im what he wants, he spends more on tha likes o’ me t’ get things movin’ a bit faster than rented politicians can. Stoppin’ bad chemical crap, savin’ tha rainforest, he eats that shit up. Make no mistake, though, much as I joke, he can be a murderous sonovabitch.”

She pulled the tie out of it and started playing with his hair. “Kettle, pot… You don’t have any views on saving the planet?”

“Yup. I believe we all gotta give serious thought t’ tha kind o’ world we’re leavin’ behind fer Keith Richards.”

Tabitha burst out laughing and slapped his shoulder. Victor grinned, shifted to get more comfortable around her, and began to purr.

“Do you have your terrifying German alarm from Hell set?”

“I do. Gonna hafta teach ya ‘bout tha splendor that is Rammstein, darlin’. That pop shit on yer iPod made my ears bleed.”

“Rammstein, huh? What was the song?”

“Called  _Waidmanns Heil_  – means good huntin’. That’s a demo, tha singer’s a friend – he lemme record ‘im singin’ it cuz I liked tha lyric. Ain’t even on an album yet, just tucked in a battered notebook in ‘is suitcase at tha time.”

“Pretty exclusive – cool. So that’s what wakes you up before a mission... It fits. You speak German, obviously. How many languages do you know?”

Victor winked at her and closed his eyes. “Been too long since I counted ‘em an’ tha fuzzy suckers won’t hold still.” When her lips pressed a gentle kiss to his forehead, he smiled and began to purr again.

~ ~ ~

“There ya go.”

Victor handed her phone back and watched her dump the contents of the purse he’d confiscated into the Prada bag she’d bought. She tossed the old purse on top of one of her suitcases.

“Thanks. Are we taking your space car to do mayhem tonight?”

“Naw, tha airport minions brought my black Hummer H1.”

“Oh. Can we listen to my iPod on the drive?” She shot him a teasing smile.

“Nope. Gotta be stealthy an’ I can’t be quiet if I’m makin’ those pained wretchin’ noises.”

When she stuck her tongue out at him, he caught her and hauled her into his embrace. Grinning down at her, he kissed the tip of her nose before letting her go.

“I guess it’s suit up time.” She stared down at the pile of black gear he’d set out on the dressing room couch for her, most of it custom made. Her fingers touched the vest. “Do you ever feel nervous before a mission?”

“Not unless it involves a heavy hitter like Sinister or Cueball. I’d rather go pull tha tail offa Galactus.”

“So no worries for tonight? Run of the mill job? This vest is Kevlar – I recognize it from the safe house. It has Iron Man’s fancy plates in it.”

“Better safe than sorry; anybody tries t’ shoot me, it don’t matter much. Make sure ya got yer phone on ya; if anythin’ goes south an’ we get separated, I’ll come find ya. If ya can’t find me, call.”

Victor fastened the buttonfly on his black pants. He wasn’t sure if she’d realized his clothes were made of the same riot gear grade materials hers were. He hadn’t bothered with a vest, though – his was all aimed at avoiding fire. Pulling on the longsleeve shirt, he sat on the couch and fussed with the high neck of it; the cloth nestled right under his jaw.

Donning her tight black pants, Tabitha sat beside him to put her boots on. They were heavy, steel toe and treaded like biker boots on steroids. Standing up in her black bra, she put her hands on her hips and smiled at him.

“I love this, I actually feel dangerous. What would really improve it is your dildo rig. Stilettos are so overrated.”

Victor purred up at her. “Maybe we need t’ start a new Christmas tradition an’ try that out at home.”

“Home, huh? I like that. I might spend part of the week in a renewed hunt for your porn stash.”

“Footlocker at tha end o’ tha bed, in a box marked ‘beans’.”

“Beans? Why?”

Victor shrugged. “Somethin’ Brys had in tha kitchen. I wanted a box.”

“So are you a  _Playboy_  guy,  _Maxim_  – maybe  _Playgirl_  – or a  _Hustler_  bad boy?”

“All o’ tha above. Most o’ it’s celebrity rags an’ tech mags, though. Don’t really care ‘bout porn much.”

“Why those mags?”

“Go huntin’ an’ find out,” he told her and smirked. “Ya might notice a theme.”

“Challenge accepted.”

She approached and he leaned back to allow her to straddle his lap. He crossed his hands loosely at her back until she leaned in to kiss him. Arms tightening around her slender body, he growled with hunger.

“You don’t have to say it again,” she whispered in his ear. Her lips brushed it, her tongue slipping out to trace the outer edge to the twitching point. When he palmed a breast and squeezed gently, she gasped. “I love you, Victor…” Leaning back to catch his gaze, she smiled. “I need to feel sure, but … I know I want you. Are you sure … you want me?”

Victor’s breath caught in his throat, his heartbeat speeding up with both fear and heat. “Far’s I’m concerned, yer already my mate. Beast inside was callin’ ya that way before. Wish I didn’t need ya on this run, t’ be honest – feels stupid t’ risk ya.”

“No one running X-Force ever seemed to worry about that, so I’m taking it as a compliment and I plan to squee over it later. However,” she placed a fingertip on his lips before he could answer, “I’m good at this stuff, I want to help and it’ll be done faster together.”

“Ya gotta swear t’ me yer gonna be careful an’ stay safe. Cable is a douche, but Pete Wisdom’s a good teacher an’ I know yer gonna be capable an’ smart – but things can always go south, sometimes in a hurry. Trick is knowin’ how t’ salvage that an’ still get tha job done an’ survive t’ get paid. Ya ain’t gotta whole team fer backup.”

“I swear I’ll be okay. I’m a dangerous girl in badass boots, with a lethal boyfriend to back me up.”

“Speakin o’ that – I get intense when a job gets goin’ an’ that’s why I got us workin’ apart fer most o’ this. Don’t get done early an’ wander outta bounds t’ find me; I might be too jacked up t’ sense that yer in tha line o’ fire.”

“Yes, I understand.” She leaned in again, brushed his hair back and whispered in his ear, “I’ll tell you a secret – you’re ‘intense’ about ninety percent of the time.” When he lowered his head, she took the tip of his ear in her lips and suckled it.

“Fuck,” he muttered. “Ya had t’ pick now t’ figure out tha ear thing?” She shifted as his body responded and the diamond pendant she still wore rolled against his fingers. Victor released her breast and covered it with his hand. “Ya don’t gotta wear this no more if ya don’t wanna…”

“I do want to. I know you said she was trying to betray you and your banker, but I’m betting somewhere in there was a scared woman who didn’t want to die. It’s important to me to remember what you are, since you don’t want to stop being that person. I almost was her. Now though, I guess I want us both to … have the reminder that we’ll need to work on keeping me in one piece.”

He slumped, but nodded. “Just wanna hurry up an’ get it done.”

“Once it’s done, we can go … home. I want to snuggle up and watch that movie with you, the Scott Pilgrim thing. I’d like to spend Christmas with you and then kiss you bye and wait for you to come back after snow leopard delivery. If you need to hit Berlin and Cape Town on the way home, just do it – I’ll be sitting in our freezing kitchen chatting with Brys about how to child-proof your dungeon.”

Victor smirked. “Thought ya were sick o’ tha cold – an’ annoyin’ Perrin.”

“Oh, I’m all about Hawaii – after Christmas. Who is the caretaker there?”

“A native Hawaiian grandmother type who can bury a mean pig.”

“Is … burying pigs a thing you enjoy?”

Victor laughed. “Talkin’ ‘bout roastin ‘em in an imu, those underground pit ovens on tha beach; she used t’ do it fer tourists, ‘er family still does. Ya’d like ‘er; she’d like ya, too.”

“How does she feel about kids?”

“She’s had seven o’ ‘em, plus more grandkids than ya can count; so ya gotta expert t’ consult with.” He slapped her ass and got a squawk of protest that made him grin. “Hop up, babe. We gotta put clothes on, so quit tryin’ t’ get me in tha mood t’ take ‘em off.”

When they were ready, he brought over her other belt and strapped the HK P9 pistol on her hip. There were four more loaded clips on the belt. Finally, he put the vest on her and showed her how to fasten it. It covered her chest, back, and abdomen.

“This thing is weirdly not that heavy, but all of the gear can still slow me down.”

“Ya should try gettin’ surprised with adamantium on yer bones.”

“No, thanks.”

“Ya wanna carry tha Glock, too?”

“I’m too short to play Dirty Harriet.” She watched him strap on his piece and stared at it. “A Desert Eagle .50 cal? Are you aware that a gun that big on a guy like you is like strapping a cannon onto a nuke? Or were you planning to hunt moose on the way to the plant?”

Victor chuckled. “I hunt moose in tha all-t’gether with my bare fangs. Ain’t takin’ no chances with ya along on this run.” He picked up her new black overcoat and helped her put it on over the vest before pulling on his coat.

“I hope we aren’t walking through the lobby like this; although we could claim there’s a  _Matrix_  convention in town.”

“Ain’t goin’ through tha lobby. So are ya braidin’ tha mop, or am I shearin’ it off at my earlobes?”

“Don’t make me shoot you. Face that way and sit; I’ll get the brush.”

Victor curled his back forward and purred through the brushing part. He was pleasantly surprised at her braiding skills. “I’m guessin’ ya didn’t practice on Cueball.”

“On Betsy – Psylocke … for her dates with Warren. Um … Angel.”

“I know all their names – real, code, nick, or otherwise. Ya gonna miss any o’ ‘em?”

“Maybe Jubilee; we were friends and she never cared that I started out on the wrong side of the tracks.”

“That’s tha runt’s li’l Chinese pocket pet.”

“Uh, yes. I realize you have a serious hate-on for all things X, so we may need to agree not to talk about them? A laundry list of who you wish you could gut is not going to be my favorite topic.”

“Ya got it.”

“What now, Rapunzel?”

“Stuff it down tha back o’ tha coat an’ let’s go.”

“Are we checking out? All of our stuff is still scattered all over the suite.”

“Nope. That can be an after breakfast endeavor. Ya can cart yer bag along an’ leave it in tha Hummer if ya want, but keep yer phone on ya. A pocket o’ tha coat low by yer hips is tha best spot.” He rose and faced her, his hands on her shoulders. “Don’t take tha vest off, even after. Keep it on ‘til we get back here.”

She smiled up at him. “I will. Try not to worry so much; I used to do this sort of thing a lot. It was usually attacking an enemy base or trying to stop a megalomaniac, but still.”

“Workin’ solo or duo, it’s a lot diff’rent than playin’ on a team.”

“Kiss me, Vic.” After he bent down to kiss her, she smiled up at him softly. “We are a team.” She placed her hand over her belly. “Aren’t we, junior? Daddy is a worry-wort.”

“Daddy has vast experience with paranoia comin’ true. Off we go, Tabs – time t’ play rock star.”

He offered his hand and she took it. As they went downstairs and through the suite, the windows revealed a fiery sunset turning slowly into night.

Victor did enjoy her surprise at how they were shepherded through the back pathways of the hotel by men paid by Obinata to keep them unnoticed and unharassed. From a private elevator to the parking garage, they were flanked to the vehicle and the men stood guard until Victor drove off.

“That was a trip.” Tabitha buckled up and tapped the clock on the dash. “Pacific time in winter weirds me out. It’s only a bit after four o’clock and the sun’s going down. San Francisco and Seattle did not get me used to that. East Coast, all the way.”

“I barely notice, short o’ tryin’ t’ make a biz meetin’ on time. After ya get used t’ hoppin’ over tha Atlantic ‘nuff  times per week, it all sorta blurs.”

She nudged her bag on the floor at her feet to one side and stretched out. “Do you get much downtime? Vacations?”

“Gotta get unwind time in. Biggest reason fer all tha safe houses. I’m not real picky, though. Normally, I try not t’ schedule things right on top o’ each other. Sometimes I rack up a month between jobs an’ pick where I wanna hang my hat.” He maneuvered through traffic easily and glanced at her before watching the road again. “Odds are, that’s ‘bout t’ be wherever yer hangin’ yer hat.”

“I hope you like Hawaiian shirts then, because I’ve had my fill of snow this year. One white Christmas sounds good, but after that, the reindeer can land on the beach to find me.”

Victor smirked. “All those reindeer decorations an’ crap just make me hungry.”

“You can’t eat Rudolph; I don’t want to get coal for the rest of my life because of you.” She reached out and covered his hand on the stick shift. They fell silent, and then she turned her head to watch the city thin and change around them. When the bridge came into view, she squeezed his fingers. “What bridge is that?”

“Iron Workers Memorial. On tha other side, we’re takin’ Dollarton an’ gettin’ not too close t’ tha target.”

At Dollarton and Riverside, Victor gased up at an Esso station and then headed farther down Dollarton. He pulled into a recreational complex and parked at the back of the lot behind a row of blue metal dumpsters. A black cyclone fence stood between the lot and a forest full of trees.

“Laserdome Plus,” Tabitha said, reading the sign they’d passed on the way in. “We’re a bit overdressed for laser tag.”

“Maplewood Conservation Area,” Victor answered, pointing at the trees. “Hop tha fence, use tha woods fer cover, work down t’ tha target, hop ‘nother fence, an’ then it’s showtime in stealth mode – at least ‘til tha bombs an’ arson get underway.”

“Sneaky. Do we have a specific play or are we winging it?”

“Once I start settin’ fires, any sirens in tha area’ll be flushed my way an’ kept pretty busy with puttin’ ‘em out. After we’re in tha fenceline, ya hoof it t’ set yer bombs inside tha process plant; by tha time yer done, I oughta be crashin’ an’ torchin’ trucks, closer t’ ya. We meet back at tha fence where we got over. Don’t set off tha bombs ‘til we regroup. I’ll get us outta tha fenceline an’ we’ll work back through tha woods.”

“What if I can’t find you?”

“If we lose each other entire, set off one bomb an’ gimme ‘bout ten minutes. If I ain’t there yet, or if anybody comes ‘round t’ try an’ hurt ya, blow ‘em all an’ get back here t’ wait at my truck. Don’t run right along tha fence, but keep it in sight on yer left shoulder an’ ya can find this lot. Got it?”

“Got it. If I get held up in the factory?”

“I’ll come find ya.”

“Sounds good; you have all the bases covered.” She pulled a black t-shirt out of her bag, one of his, and tossed it over it. “Dinner after?”

“Yup.” He leaned over and kissed her. “Be safe, that’s an order.”

“Yes, sir.” She grinned at him when his keychain lock made the Hummer beep and they turned to face the fence. “Are we climbing that? It’ll just bend under you.”

“Come here, Dirty Harriet.” When he picked her up, crouched, and jumped it, she managed not to laugh after he landed and set her back on her feet.

“Your methods take some getting used to.”

“I’m one o’ a kind, all rumors t’ tha contrary.” Holding out his hand to her, he smirked when she took it. “Now we work in a nice romantic stroll on tha way t’ mayhem an’ destruction.”

“Classic. So, can you see in the pitch dark? Because I can’t; I’d have to pop a baby bomb for a flashlight.”

“Ain’t pitch dark t’ me; I only need one-sixth o’ tha light ya do t’ see just fine, an’ if I run outta that, can see int’ tha infrared spectrum some.”

“Wow. Your eyes glow amber in the dark, too – more than usual.”

“No time now fer ‘nother feral anatomy lesson. If ya wanna pop a will-o’-tha-wisp t’ see by once we split up, be my guest, but keep in mind that it can show others where ya are.”

“Yes, I know,” she responded, and gave him a smile. Her little fingers squeezed his again as they headed out. “Not my first rodeo.”

“Speakin’ o’ rodeos...” He led her deeper into the woods.

“Are we staying focused on the task?”

“Target won’t be empty ‘til after six an’ I seem t’ recall that yer fond o’ a diddle pre-mission.”

She didn’t protest and the adrupt change to her scent told him why. He spotted a fallen tree propped up by two others and steered her to and over it. The urgency of his heat had surprised him and if she tried out her newfound power to say no, he wasn’t sure how he would hold it back.

Victor pushed her overcoat out of the way and reached under her to open belts and pants. It all was rucked down to her knees in moments. He managed to wrestle his cock out and laid a hand on the back of her vest to push her down lower onto the trunk of the tree. She was growing wet fast but fingers sped that along, and then she gasped when he impaled her from behind.

He got lost in it, barely remembering not to shove too deep. One arm was wrapped around her waist and the claws of the other hand gouged the wood. He forgot to attend to her pleasure, but the near-ambush of it seemed to help her right along and she came before he did.

The moment he withdrew, he dropped to his knees. “Don’t move,” he told her, and shoved his tongue inside her to clean her up.

When he stood, he turned her and retracted his claws to refasten everything. Stepping back, he curled a hand at the base of his cock and swiped the mess upward off of it, licking his palm and fingers clean as she watched in a daze. Grinning at her, he stuffed the thing roughly back into his pants and contained it again.

“Sorry ‘bout that,” he muttered, as she remained silent. “He’s gotta mind o’ ‘is own.”

Tabitha sat on the tree trunk and swallowed hard. “You should really kiss me after all that.”

He moved in and embraced her, kissing her deeply before placing a soft kiss on her forehead. She had a death grip on his coat lapels. “Wasn’t too rough fer ya?”

“That was probably the hottest thing that has ever happened to me, and you’ve already set that bar pretty high.”

Victor bent his head to nuzzle her neck. “Was afraid ya might whip out a ‘no’ on me an’ then I’d probly hafta find a knothole t’ fuck t’ keep from blowin’ my chances.”

“I don’t want to confuse the issue; I mean, here I am trying to get you to grasp consent…”

“But…?” He smiled when she let go of his coat and her fingers brushed a stubborn lock of hair behind his ear.

“Well, but … you are the way you are and I – fucking loved that, so… If you need that again and it won’t get us killed, injured, or arrested – and you can scent that I want it, I’m going to say ‘go for it’, because, holy crap, Victor…”

He grinned. “Oughta warn ya, I’m awful fond o’‘mid-mission mayhem-full-speed-ahead’ fuckin’, too; I’ve even kept at it after bein’ shot, before.”

“That would come under ‘won’t get us injured or killed’.”

“Yes, ma’am.” He winked at her.

“Just saying, though – if you get done before me and feel like heading my way to help out, that processes building is chock-a-block full of shadowy corners.”

“So ya can be a li’l minx when properly inspired; I like that on ya, Tabs.”

She smiled and kissed him before standing up. “Let’s find out if I can walk after that.”

They were both quiet on the way, at least verbally. He winced at every branch she snapped. She shot him an apologetic look a few times. Victor huffed out a small breath and resolved to teach her woodscraft.

It took them twenty minutes to move down parallel to the unfinished chemical plant at a walk. Beyond the fence they approached, Victor could hear and smell the harbor, even over the tangled scents of metal, concrete, and building materials in between.

“I keep expecting you to cut a slash in a fence and then we crawl through like in the movies,” Tabitha whispered.

“Jumpin’ ‘em leaves no trace an’ no trail.”

“Not to doubt your talents, but that’s way more impressive than a six foot baby fence – plus, razor wire.”

Victor tsk-tsked her. “Knock out any security cameras ya see if it makes ya feel better, but ain’t a scrap o’ ‘em gonna survive tha night. I’m headin’ north, yer headin’ south, tha complex ain’t that big an’ ya got yer targets. Ready?” When she nodded, he swept her up in one arm above his hip for the jump. “Gotta surprise fer ya when we’re done.”

“Tell me now.”

She yelped when he launched straight up from a crouch, grabbed the fence near the top, kicked off of it with his boots and pulled himself into a swing up over the razor wire. The trajectory sailed them into a flip before he landed on his feet and set her back on her boots.

Panting, Tabitha gulped. “That was a ten from the Russian judge. So, tell me?”

“Ain’t gonna ruin tha surprise; ya gotta wait fer dinner.” He kissed her quickly and stepped away. “Good huntin’, babe.”

~ ~ ~

Victor popped claws and rushed up the side of the metal maintenance building. He didn’t hear her footsteps move off to the south until he was out of her line of sight. Running along the rooftops of a garage and warehouse, jumping from one to the next, he reached the administration building at the northern end of the complex in moments. Slashing a lock on a roof access door got him inside the two-story brick structure. Following the layout from stolen schematics, he moved to the records department, ignoring the security cameras as he went.

At the back of the room, a pair of battered bank boxes sat between mostly empty metal shelves as if hastily set there. The scent on them was Ellison’s fellow tree-hugger, Peter Wendall, who had taken a job with the construction crew over a month before just to have access to this room. Opening both, Victor found the promised supplies: neatly packed M112 demolition blocks of C-4 in one, and fuse caps in the other. All he had needed to bring was the matches. The fact that they were loaded into separate cloth reusable grocery bags cracked him up.

Carting the ‘go green’ bags to the door, he fished out a handful of blocks and fuse caps. Inserting the detonators brought back fond memories of a hot jungle in Vietnam.

 _That bastard Duncan who used t’ eat bits o’ C-4 t’ get high an’ started singin’, drawin’ fire on all o’ us,_  he thought, grinning.  _‘Til I accidentally stuffed some up ‘is ass; shame that fuse got lit before he sobered up. So careless._

Striking a match to light the fuse caps, he got back to the door in a hurry. On the way out, just for the hell of it, he grabbed and broke off the top of the fire extinguisher in a cloudburst of white powder. Brushing off his coat sleeve, he picked up the bags and headed for the process control room. The explosion in his wake put a spring in his step.

The entire complex should have been empty of people, after the ones bribed to leave at sundown let the others go for the day. It was the original plan before Ellison changed it at dinner, and after dropping in on the man at his home that morning, it should have been the reinstated plan – and yet five distinct scents were inside the next target ahead.

Victor growled.  _Ya better watch pullin’ funny stunts on me, Ellison – I told ya I’d kill yer whole hit list later. Fuck. She’ll wanna see what tha newshounds say ‘bout this an’ they won’t miss reportin’ a death tally. Fine. Herdin’ sheep it is._

Neither the fire alarms nor the sprinkler systems were online yet, another calculated delay by workers who agreed with Ellison’s group. After the records department went up, of course, the people who shouldn’t have been in the process controls room began to scurry and the sealed security door opened. Victor launched at them and tore the door off of its hinges. Three men managed to run out, the other two ran back in. Ignoring the instinct to kill them, he used a fist to bat one man into the other and roared as they escaped on the heels of the other three.

Growling, he got back to work setting more blocks and inserting fuse caps. Control panels and screens at several workstations surrounded the dim room, most of their wires in spaghetti tangles around the equipment and computers. Not one of them would ever be hooked up. As he lit the fuse caps and leapt for the doorway, he crossed the trail of the unknown men but ignored it.

As he trotted down the stairs to the lobby, the whole building shook from the blast upstairs.  _Whoever those fucks were, I got their scents now. They better not be on tha kill list I distinctly postponed…_ Victor hit the unlocked front doors as he exited and headed for the smaller gray single-story building to his right.  _Next stop, tha lab._  By the time he slipped inside it, the administration building was a large rectangular torch and his heightened hearing could pick up the first of the sirens.

The lab had power and it was the only building that had been in full operation as the rest of the complex was constructed at a distance around it. The place was nearly papered in warning signs about the presence of flammable substances.

“Ya don’t say,” he told the signs.  _L_ _ights are off, but somebody likes t’ hang meat in here, maybe – why keep it so cold in winter?_  Feeling impatient, he shook his head and got to work.  _Gonna be pretty fuckin’ warm in here soon._

The M112 blocks were all set and each had its detonator pushed in and ready. Since he had Tabitha at work setting plasma bombs in the process plant itself, he’d decided to use most of the C-4 here, keeping back three blocks and fuse caps for the trucks and remaining buildings. He rolled them in the bags and slipped them into his coat pockets. Matches in hand, he was about to light the first detonator, when a metal pallet in the corner caught his eye. The pallet and the trio of paint can-sized metal drums set on it smelled like aluminum – weirdly thick aluminum.

Suspicious, he paused and went to take a look. Kneeling down on one knee to inspect them, he caught sight of a collection of GHS pictogram labels and froze: flammable, toxic, health hazard, corrosive, and oxidizing. Below them, the formula CIF3 was clearly marked over other words: Chlorine Trifluoride, DANGER.

Victor almost forgot to breathe.  _Holy fuckin’ shit…_ He snarled and rose, backing away from the small drums.  _People here that shouldn’t be, CIF3 here that shouldn’t be, in tha lab where I’m ‘sposed t’ blow shit t’ hell. So what is this, Ellison? Best laid plans o’ mice an’ men often go awry? Or is this shit yer new plan cuz I pissed ya off this mornin’ – threatened t’ turn yer eco-terrorist swan song int’ somethin’ just a touch less grand?_

Agitated, thoughts whirling, he started to pace as a growl thrummed in his chest.

_I woulda never guessed that skinny vegan had tha balls t’ cross me, but he knows ‘nuff  t’ realize that if he did, he’d better take a stab at killin’ me._

He had told Tabitha he would have refused the job if the place was actually making CIF3. The plant hadn’t been online, so the drums were samples – either made in this lab or sent from somewhere else.

Victor stopped pacing and took another step back from the pallet as old memories he’d tried to bury seeped into his thoughts. The sound of a soft whispery voice speaking in German made him twitch and snarl before he realized it was only in his head.

The smells and sounds were subtle. It had been so quiet in the fancy stolen house that the voice had become his world. Leaning on an elbow in bed, a soft hand covering the weak chin, the slender man had told him a story about CIF3 being used in experimental incendiary weapons only two years before. It had burned at a temperature of 4352 degrees Fahrenheit, spewed from the mouth of a flame thrower. Victor had opened his blue eyes at that number and stared at the man beside him. A small benevolent smile and the demeanor of a tolerant father might have raised his hackles – but he didn’t dare show aggression to this one. Reaching for a robe, the man replaced his pince-nez glasses on the bridge of his nose and rose from the bed. Victor remained still, where he’d been told to stay.

 _‘[In the end, it was too volatile_ _– impractical. Simply too hard to control, or make sensible use of – and we had lost too many good men to it.]’_  The voice in Victor’s memory was regretful. The man had sighed and smiled down at him. The dried blood of a superior officer was still caked on his claws and they were stained dark from others before that – men he hadn’t been told to kill.  _‘[A pity, isn’t it? How some tools, no matter how powerful, how beautiful – if they can’t be controlled – must be destroyed?]’_

Victor shook his head violently, his gleaming metal claws snapping out as his hands rose to press against his ears. The dusty scent of stone and steel filled his nose and throat as he pushed the memory away.

The voice of Beast, Hank McCoy, speaking to Charles Xavier rose in his thoughts, just outside of his dungeon cell:  _‘I can’t imagine it, Charles; adamantium turns into a liquid at 1500 degrees Fahrenheit, while flesh and bone will be consumed at only 200 degrees. Only someone with a healing factor – and an incredibly strong will – could survive that bonding process without going insane._ _Obviously, they didn’t succeed, whoever they were, but the attempt – since he’s alive and doesn’t have it – it probably nearly killed him. Whatever else you found lurking in our ‘Toothmonger’s head,_ _that failed bonding process alone could have driven him irrevocably mad.’_ “Shut up,” Victor muttered, his lips drawing back from his teeth. If he closed his eyes, all he saw was the regretful smile of a soft and terrifyingly lethal man. A man who had caused the death of more people than Victor had ever seen – with only his messy, spidery signature.  _‘[It burned at a temperature of 4352 degrees Fahrenheit…]’_  “Shut up … shut up … shut up!”

Victor staggered backward until his back hit a wall, his breath panting fast. His eyes snapped open just to escape the memories.

 _Tabitha…_  He tried to picture her smiling, but she hadn’t done it that much in his company. Tiny hand on her flat belly, the small smile when his large hand covered it.  _Tabitha…_  Abruptly, the growl sparked fresh.  _If Ellison is tryin’ t’ screw me over… Tabitha – is she safe? I gotta get back t’ ‘er!_

He pushed himself off of the wall and snarled at his old nightmares of captors and masters.

 _Three li’l drums o’ liquid Hell; well, maybe it’s time I prove I got that strong will – no matter how fuckin’ crazy I am. As fer that sick scrawny fuck in tha glasses … he died a prisoner, swallowin’ cyanide t’ avoid tha gallows like a damn coward. How many times has some asshole stretched my neck in a bloody noose? A dozen? I’m still here._ Victor straightened and faced the little drums. “Fuck all o’ ya. I’m still here.”

To a chorus of sirens, he went to the pallet. Fishing out the bags from his pockets, he moved the fuse cap detonators to the bag with the M112 blocks of C-4. Picking up the three drums, he set them carefully into the emptied bag.

Leaving them on the pallet, he went deeper into the lab and found a humming refrigerator. He yanked it open and grabbed up frozen ice packs from inside the door, purely out of healthy paranoia. Since nightfall, it was 33.4 degrees Fahrenheit outside, nowhere close to the 53.15 degrees boiling point of CIF3. He barely remembered to retract his claws before stuffing the ice packs around the drums.The pressure seals had to remain intact – for now.

Loping off out of the lab with the bags, he reached the back of the warehouse and stashed them. Free to hit all-fours on the return, he broke the door of the lab going through it and began to light the fuse caps. Retracing his run at top speed, he barely skidded to a stop in time to avoid smashing into the warehouse.

Firetrucks and police cars were on scene, trying to fight the blaze of the administration building. As the lab blew sky-high, they’d have plenty to do, but it also might make some of them decide to get stupid and start hunting for an arsonist.

Victor didn’t allow himself to think about what he had decided to do. In a crouch, he got busy turning a C-4 block into a thin putty shell around the top of one of the drums, like an acorn cap. Picking up the bags, he trotted around to the side and cut the lock on the first door he came to. Sucking in a deep breath, he carefully slid the detonator in and got ready to run like mad. When his fingers didn’t tremble lighting the insane bomb, he let a fierce grin stretch his lips wide. He tossed it through the door and bounded off.

The blast inside the warehouse threw him into the side of the garage, denting the wall. He knew the CIF3 could burn concrete and the gravel and sand beneath it, but the sound of tearing metal was satisfying, too. When he realized the emergency vehicles were retreating outside the fenceline, he began to laugh.

_Can’t blame ya boys; my balls might be sucked up against my kidneys, but fuck, what a rush!_

Squatting down with the bags, he picked one of the last two C-4 blocks and started to mold it around the next drum. As soon as he was ready, detonator between two fingers, he trotted around the front of the garage to find the neatly parked row of six tanker trucks.

“Eeny meeny miny, moe…” Picking the truck farthest from the garage, he punched the window in, unlocked the doors, and set his explosives collection in the passenger seat before hotwiring the truck. Driving it up onto the scales, he had an impressive view of the burning buildings and flashing lights not far beyond.

Victor put the truck in park and sliced a long piece of seatbelt strap off before getting out. He held his breath while lashing the combo bomb to the grill. Sticking the detonator into the C-4 on top, he fetched the heavy chain, hook, and metal toolbox he’d spotted in the open service door of the garage. It only took a few seconds to latch the back bumper to the steel railing of the scales. Restarting the engine, he dropped the toolbox on the gas pedal and shoved the stick into drive. The truck lurched against the chain, tires spinning and smoking.

Sure it was proof of insanity, he pulled out and snapped on his zippo lighter and moved close to light the fuse cap strapped to the front of the straining truck. The second it was lit, he jumped back to slash the chain.

“Burn, motherfuckers, burn!”

The truck launched down the scales ramp and smashed into the others as the CIF3 bomb turned them into an early New Years Eve fireworks show. The trucks were thrown partly inside the open garage building and soon it all went up like a rocket.

_Always thought it was a shame that vehicles won’t explode like in tha movies. Reality can be so borin’ next t’ Hollywood. Turns out, just needed tha right kicker. Hoo yeah!_

Laughing, Victor took off on all-fours to kill the maintenance building with his last block of C-4. Beyond it was the cement structure that housed the processing plant, and inside it or out, he’d find Tabitha.

“Tha surprise I got fer ‘er is gonna be sweet as pie.”

With a trail of destruction in his wake, Victor reached the process plant building and slashed the lock on a back door. The moment he entered he could smell terrified people, nearly buried under the stink of plasma bombs. If the fools from the control room thought hiding here was smart, they’d learn better soon enough.

Hunting them was a raw temptation. Arson and destruction came easy to him – chasing prey and not catching and killing it was hard. He didn’t know if they were the owners or the chemical engineers on Ellison’s list or not, but he decided he didn’t care about that just yet and when the prey ran, he’d let them scatter. The thrill of turning the place into melting slag had fired his blood and all he could think about was finding Tabitha.

_Long as they ain’t found with claw an’ fang wounds, I can chase ‘em out an’ blame Ellison if they turn up dead in tha confusion – fer now, I gotta way more fun hunt t’ get on with_ _._

The moment he caught her scent, he grinned and began to stalk her. Going by smell, all of her bombs were in place. Then he saw the tiny plasma will-o-tha-whisp bobbing along between two cylindrical drums. Beneath it, her form could be seen as a glowing heat signature.

Soundlessly, he followed; he was well aware she might throw the little bomb light at him if he spooked her. Willing to risk it, he loomed up behind her. “Fee fi fo fum,” he spoke in a hissing whisper.

She jumped, but managed not to burn him. “Don’t do that,” she scolded, but a second later she embraced him.

Victor wasted no time. When he broke her hold and reached to open her belts and clothes, her breathing and heartbeat sped up, her scent drowning him in pheromones.

The gun on her hip clunked when he picked her up and laid her out on her back on a work table between two control panels. Her legs dangled off of it until she lifted one boot, expecting him to unlace it. He held it up higher out of the way and gashed open the crotch of her pants with a claw.

“Hey, don’t – damn it!”

Victor paid no attention to her protest as her scent filled him with lust. He managed not to tear off the buttons on his pants. Gripping her legs behind the knees, he pulled her to the edge of the table and within moments he was thrusting inside her wet tight heat. He groaned at the pleasure, watching her in the light of her bombs, large and small. Her body shifted up and back with each thrust as she moaned for him, her fingers clutching at his coat sleeves. When he let her legs go to slam his hands onto the table at her sides, she hooked her treaded heels around his hips.

“It sounds like World War Three out there,” she said, panting for breath around the words. The sirens of firetrucks and police cruisers had crept closer again.

“Helluva aphrodisiac, ain’t it?”

“Won’t they come check on this place?” At that moment, they both heard a human call out for help, not forty yards from them. “Someone’s in here? What the hell?” She started to get up, but he held her down, a growl escaping his lips. “Victor, stop.”

“Gotta be tha fools that ran from me in tha offices, no fuckin’ clue why they’re here; I can chase ‘em out before ya blow tha place.”

She opened her mouth, probably to tell him to stop again, but he stretched out and kissed her silent. She struggled under him until she began to come and then went limp as he pumped faster, pushing deeper than he should. When he let her mouth go, she cried out.

“Need it,” he muttered against her neck. “Don’t tell me no…”

“Victor, wait–”

He didn’t listen. Urgency, wanton destruction, and thwarted hunting drives turned him rougher and she winced when he reared his body up and shoved in when he started to come. He let out a snarl as he filled her.

“Stop, let me up,” she demanded, her tone and scent sharp with anger.

Victor hissed as he backed up, watching his cock slip free from her body. He shoved it in messy and fastened the buttonfly. “Hit tha fence an’ wait fer me.” As she started to struggle to sit up, he leaned down and licked the flat of his tongue up the side of her face. Whispering at her ear, he added, “Don’t forget yer surprise, but maybe we can have us a merry chase through tha woods first. Ya can tell me later if it feels like freedom.” He kissed her deeply and then stepped away, flashing her a sharp Cheshire grin. “Ya love me, babe?”

“Y-yes…” she whispered, her eyes wide.

“Meet ya at tha fence in a tick.”

He disappeared out of her sight and went stalking after the idiot who had called out. He found the fools in moments and simply stared down at the strange tableau. Going by name tags on two labcoats, this was the kill list, trussed up for slaughter with zip ties securing them to pipes. Beyond them in the dark, he caught a scent that made him roar with rage. At his feet, the terrified lambs bleated.

Behind him, Tabitha yelled his name, but he didn’t answer. Leaping after the scent, he began to run it down. A loud crack echoed in the vast room and a hot burning pain entered his chest. He ignored it and launched himself at his prey. Mid-jump, the projectile in his chest exploded.Victor roared in pain and crashed into the metal supports of the heavy furnace. He stared up at it and saw hanging above it an orange-yellow glowing ball of plasma energy. Steel groaned and snapped.

Victor could feel a rush of blood wetting his coat. As his mind clouded in pain, he heard Tabitha scream his name. A metal scratching on metal sound a few yards off made him hiss; it seemed to stretch, going on forever. Other cries sounded as the scent of blood and piss sharpened the air  – and then the girl called out to him again, her shrill voice full of terror.

“Don’t, Victor, stop it! Please stop! Oh my God, this can’t be happening... Please...!” She cried out as if hurt. He heard her sobbing. “How could you? You fucking bastard, how could you!”

“Tab,” he whispered, as a sickening wave of dizziness swept over him. Confusion buried rage.

Far too close, an explosion went off. He struggled to turn his head and saw bright orbs flying and blasting metal objects.

“Tabitha ... wait...” He looked back at the orb overhead just as it flashed and tore the top of the furnace into shrapnel. Lancing pain ended his sight and tore a ragged scream from his throat.

Victor tried to lift clawed hands to protect his head as the furnace toppled. Sharp metal struck his face, throat, and chest. The smell of blood burst around him as he was pinned – and then the blackness took him down.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The movie "Scott Pilgrim Vs. the World" is awesome. For those who haven’t seen it, Victor is referring to a funny bit where Scott is too nervous to say “I love you” to a girlfriend. When his friend tells him he has to say the L word, he says “Lesbian?” to avoid saying “love”. Victor has said “I love you” and I suspect it has scared him silly, and discussing tender stuff isn’t his thing. Also, the joke is an anachronism, but I love it too much to change it, so I thought I’d at least mention it here. This story is set in 2002, and the comics of Scott Pilgrim came out in 2004, with the movie arriving in 2010. I won’t even bother with a No Prize for this. Yet unless I can dream up a better joke that fits just as well, I’ll probably just keep it in there. Maybe one of the time traveling mutants had a DVD and a player and Victor stole it. Does that count as a No Prize?
> 
> Many of my locations and a lot of their details are real, and there are a few plants on the northern shore by Vancouver – at least one is a chemical plant. However, the plant in this story is not real, and it’s location is not where the real one is. I’m a lover of details and research is magic, but sometimes fictional locations are simpler to write. Chlorine trifluoride is real and so are its roots in Nazi weapons testing two years before World War II. The beastly stuff is used today primarily in the computer industry, as the chemical agent that makes a “clean room” clean. Victor also quotes from a Robert Burns poem “To a Mouse” when he thinks to Ellison, “Best laid plans of mice and men often go awry.”
> 
> For the Wolverine fans among us, he’s about to have another cameo in this story. I like to mesh my stories. By this point in “Redemption”, chronologically speaking, Logan’s fic “Shattered Silence” has wrapped up and finished. I shall probably have to break up the steady ‘first Tabitha and then Victor’ chapter structure in the next chapter, having more than one section for each of them, to get the story told right. At this point, three more chapters are planned for this story.
> 
> As always, thanks to everyone for reading, please do review, I love to hear from you. My stories will all eventually be on my blog (www.mindseyetheatre.net), and I can respond to comments/reviews here, on the blog, via email, or via @MET_Fic – AnonGrimm


	13. Blood and Fire

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I will be breaking up the steady ‘first Tabitha and then Victor’ chapter structure in this chapter, having more than one section for each of them, to get the story told right. This chapter begins in the middle of the last scene to show Tabitha’s POV of what happened, and the other sections may overlap as well to show the POV of both of them. (@MET_Fic) – AnonGrimm

No more nights  
of blood and fire

I always thought we’d be together  
And that our love could not be better  
Well with no warning you were gone  
I still don’t know what went wrong  
You don’t know what I’ve been through  
Just want to put my love in you

No more nights  
of blood and fire

All those special memories  
Now I bleed for you – burn for me  
Perhaps I was just dreaming  
When I think these things had real meaning  
You don’t know what I’ve been through  
Just want to put my love in you

Love eternal  
Lust infernal  
Bleeding, burning  
Needing, yearning

I see your face in every flame  
With no answers I have only myself to blame  
Of all the women that I have known – they’re not you  
I’d rather be alone

No more nights  
of blood and fire

~ Blood and Fire (Type O Negative)

*****************************************************************

Tabitha jumped at the hissing whisper behind her, “Fee fi fo fum…”

She nearly threw a bomb at him but managed to recover at the last second. “Don’t do that,” she scolded, and then embraced him.

It had been creepy moving around the dark building alone and her bombs didn’t light the place much at such distances from each other. At one point, she had left the building just to stare up at the havoc Victor was wreaking in the distance. The noise and tremors along the ground had been frightening. When the temptation to find him got stronger, she went back inside.

Tabitha wanted to be held by those strong arms for hours, but Victor was predictably keyed up and wasted no time. He broke her hold and reached to open her belts and clothes. The memory of being bent over a fallen tree had her wet in anticipation with embarrassing speed as her heart hammered in her chest.

The gun on her hip clunked when he picked her up and laid her on her back on a dusty work table. She lifted a boot so he could unlace it and then gasped when he pulled it up higher and gashed open the crotch of her pants with a claw.

“Hey, don’t – damn it!”

He ignored her protest as he tore his pants open. Her legs were gripped behind the knees and pulled. The moment her ass nearly came off the table, he pushed his thick and leaking cock inside her. The groan he gave her made her shiver as his thrusts made everything else fade away.

His weight pushing forward and back made her body rock on the table. She grabbed at the sleeves of his coat, wishing she could hold him. He let her legs go, slamming his hands down beside her body and she took that chance to at least wrap her legs around his hips.

The urgent and wordless way he was fucking her was intense to say the least. Older memories when he’d been cruel rose up to spark fear, but she swallowed it down as best she could. To let him know she was okay, she told him, “It sounds like World War Three out there.” She had to pant for breath around the words. The sirens of firetrucks and police cruisers had crept closer again.

“Helluva aphrodisiac, ain’t it?”

“Won’t they come check on this place?” A strange voice answered her – a human calling out for help. The man was in the building, less than forty yards away. “Someone’s in here? What the hell?” She started to get up, but he held her down and growled at her. Clinging to the belief that he would, she ordered, “Victor, stop.”

“Gotta be tha fools that ran from me in tha offices, no fuckin’ clue why they’re here; I can chase ‘em out before ya blow tha place.”

Tabitha started to tell him to stop again, but he stretched out and kissed her just to prevent it. She began to struggle under him as old fears reared their ugly heads. His cock thrust relentlessly deep inside and she was shocked when she began to come. It felt as mind-manglingly good as it always had and her body went limp in the wake of it.

Between one stroke and the next, he pushed deep enough to hurt her. With her body lax in the throes of orgasm, she hadn’t been ready for it and she had nothing to push against to shove herself back to make it tolerable. Fear crept insidiously into her veins as he grew rougher. She cried out the moment he released her mouth, but he didn’t stop, didn’t ease up, or even pause.

“Need it,” he muttered against her neck. “Don’t tell me no…”

Guilt filled her mind. She’d told him no in their warm bed when he’d done nothing wrong and it had nearly torn them apart. He’d been so angry and he’d left her… Another rough thrust hit and the pain started. “Victor, wait–”

He wasn’t even listening. She winced when he reared his body up and shoved in violently when he started to come. He snarled savagely as he filled her. Bile rose in her throat, the pain making her dizzy. Hurt and afraid, she looked up at his fierce bestial expression. She couldn’t even be sure he was aware of her. Remembering how it used to be between them, her fear ignited into anger.

“Stop, let me up,” she demanded, packing as much pissed-off into her voice as she could.

He hissed at her when he backed up, eyes down to watch himself slip free, like he used to when he considered her his property. He didn’t lean down to ask if he’d hurt her, didn’t apologize – but he had to know.

She couldn’t speak as she watched him shove himself back into his pants and fasten them. Had the mess on it been tinged pink with her blood? Her pelvis ached as she struggled to sit up.

“Hit tha fence an’ wait fer me,” he ordered. She tried to cuss him out, but froze when he leaned down and licked the flat of his tongue up the side of her face. It was one of those possessive things he would do… Whispering at her ear, he added, “Don’t forget yer surprise, but maybe we can have us a merry chase through tha woods first. Ya can tell me later if it feels like freedom.”

 _Chase through the woods … like prey, like meat… No! He’s just keyed up from all of this…_  Tabitha tried to speak, but his mouth covered hers, kissing her deeply before he stepped away.

His sharp Cheshire grin flashed as he began to sink into the darkness. The glowing amber eyes were fixed on her. “Ya love me, babe?”

“Y-yes…” she whispered, her eyes wide.

“Meet ya at tha fence in a tick.” Stepping backward, he simply disappeared. Moments later, his bestial roar rang out. Nearly beneath him, she heard terrified people cry out and begin to beg.

“Victor!” She fumbled to get her pants and belts secured so they wouldn’t trip her. She jumped down onto her boots and swayed, grabbing at the table so she wouldn’t fall.

Tabitha twitched and drew her pistol when a loud crack echoed in the vast concrete building. She didn’t hear it ricochet. Did one of the men have a gun? Had they shot Victor?

A small muted explosion sounded and she heard Victor roar again, the horrifying cry of a wounded beast. Something large crashed into the metal supports of the heavy furnace. Steel groaned and snapped.

 _What the hell? Is he throwing those people?_ “Victor!” she screamed.

Closer to her, where she’d first heard the other voice, metal began to scrape on metal – claws scratching a path as Victor approached. She still heard that sound in her nightmares, when he’d scratched his way down the stone stairs to terrify her. His hiss came after it and her blood turned to water.

Her hands on the HK P9 began to shake as her thoughts whirled.  _He couldn’t … he wouldn’t… We were real, it was real, it has to be, oh, God…_

The scratching and hissing stopped – and then the screaming and ripping began. In seconds, even she could smell the rusty tang of blood and urine in the air as she began to rush in through the dark.

Desperate, she cried out to him again, her voice shrill with terror, “Don’t, Victor, stop it! Please stop! Oh my God, this can’t be happening... Please...!”

She stumbled over something and fell. Clutching her weapon in one hand, her other hand and one knee hit hard and slid in a slick and stinking liquid. One handed, she fired the pistol, knowing it wouldn’t hurt him too badly, no matter what she hit. The shot rang in her ears, but she’d missed – she heard it ricochet in the distance.

Tabitha froze when she saw the tall dark shape move in the blackness right in front of her. The other men had fallen silent and she knew they were all dead – torn to pieces. A scent memory of roadkill squashed and scrambled on the road back home in Virginia rose in her mind and made her retch. The distant light of a floating bomb showed her the metal hooked claws gleaming as they were raised against her.

The strike was almost slow, as if he wanted her to really feel it. Adamantium needle points punctured her forearm, tore the flesh deep, and the pistol fell faster than she did. She cried out in pain, feeling blood cover her nerveless hand. She struck the wet concrete floor on her side. Sobbing, she forced herself to roll, to try to regain her feet. The claws slashed again, with only a fraction of the power she knew he had, but they tore into her pants leg and flesh of her thigh all the same.

“How could you?” she screamed up at him. “You fucking bastard, how could you!” All at once, as if they were streaking to her defense on pure rage alone, her bombs flew. She fought to stand, unable to find the pistol.

Metal objects in the dark flared and exploded. She was too erratic and he would dodge them. Sooner or later, fighting a monster like him, her power would be depleted – probably long before she could get away.

The furnace toppled in the distance, after a bomb she’d forgotten to throw exploded with the others. Frantic, she called the last two back to her and quickly reabsorbed them into her good hand.

 _You have to use the little bullet bombs, aim and make them count, just like he taught you._  The thought of those lessons twisted in her chest.  _Victor … why…?_ Turning away, she limped as fast as she could to the door she’d used to get outside.  _He didn’t even try to hurt me as bad as he could have._  She tried to stop sobbing and focus on the cold business of survival.  _Why didn’t he?_  When she hit the door, she burst through it and limped for the fence.  _He wants me to be able to run, that’s why. The Hummer – I can hotwire it. I just have to get there first…_

White light plasma bullets severed a line in the fence and she struggled not to scream as she forced her way through it. The door crashed open behind her, but she refused to look.

_Run … just run…_

She got into the trees and cursed when she realized she was taking his advice of following the fenceline at a short distance. Gritting her teeth, she kept on that path; it wouldn’t do any good to run deeper into trees and end up lost. The vehicle was parked on the other side of that fence, and it hadn’t taken them long to walk this far.

Something struck the fence she had pushed through.  _He’s hunting me now…_

Tears streamed down her face. She couldn’t run, managing only a stumbling and limping trot at best. Every jarring step wrung pain from her pelvis, her leg, and the arm she was trying to cradle close to her vest. She couldn’t feel it, and the numb sensation was terrifying as visions of it hanging by a shred of flesh plagued her.

 _Shut up! It’s just shock setting in. Survive, you stupid bitch!_ Heavy footsteps sounded behind her. Don’t look, it’ll slow you down. Reaching back with her good hand, she shot a spray of light across her path. The footsteps veered.  _Oh shit, he’ll cut me off, jump out at me… Where?_

Eyes darting to the black fence, she panted for breath. Time had seemed to stretch. Her whole life was one endless insane flight, stumbling through the dark woods in terror as her lover hunted her down like an injured deer.

In a flash, she saw the dark blocky shape of the Hummer through the fence as she nearly stumbled past it. Bouncing to an agonizing stop, she turned and blew the fence apart with her power. Limping through it, she lifted a finger to aim a plasma bolt into the lock on the driver’s door.

She screamed and fell as something hit her. Landing on her back, she threw her arms up to protect her face as claws ripped at the armored vest and coat she wore. One of the strikes aimed for her arm and the claws snagged in her chest, scoring deep bloody cuts.

Tabitha groped for one of the extra clips full of bullets on her belt and threw it at the dark shape bent over her. One plasma burst exploded the whole clip and tossed him back to the ground.

Rolling, her injured arm pressed to the vest, she screamed again as the claws hooked on the top of the vest, their tips puncturing the back of her neck.

“Victor, don’t! Please! Oh, God, please… I love you, don’t do this!” She tossed another clip behind her and blew it up. Everything blurred around her as she heard him roar. She began to crawl toward the vehicle, sobbing and shaking. “Please … leave me alone…”

Another fire of plasma broke the lock on the door, singeing the paint. A ragged scream was torn from her as pain descended. She hadn’t even registered that she’d been trying to crawl up to open the door. It opened wide and she shoved her body up with the heavy treads on her boots.

Her injured leg gave out but she grabbed at the seat with her forearms and one hand. Staring forward, she watched the injured arm where her hand was drooping to the seat. In the mess of red revealed by the dome light, she saw the white gleam of bone.

“Tabitha!” Victor’s voice screamed.

Something impossibly heavy hit the roof of the Hummer. The metal squealed and crunched under it. Gripping the seat with what little strength she had left, she screamed at him, “Go away!”

Her vision blurred as she stared at the white bone of her arm. She heard him snarl and roar. Blood was dripping and running from her wounds. Slowly, she realized that it wasn’t blood that was running down her inner thighs.

The thing on the roof jumped down, rocking the whole vehicle. It dislodged her hold and she fell to the concrete, striking her head.

 _He’ll kill me…_  “Victor,” she whispered, “please…”

*****************************************************************

The tubes and needles of the tank pierced his body. Viscous fluid trapped him and filled his mouth – only the tube surgically lodged into his throat was allowing him to breathe. He couldn’t see, couldn’t move, and his body was so full of pain that everything just felt numb. Soon the fire would come, the liquid silver fire. It would run through the tubes and needles and erupt him back into a pain that had burned his damaged mind past the bounds of madness.

He tried to open his eyes, but couldn’t. Did they stab needles into his eyes? Voices, talking … why could he hear voices?

_‘It isn’t working, Doctor Windsor.’_

_‘It will.’_

_‘Look at his vitals, damn it – he won’t survive it.’_

_‘It worked before, it will work now. Patience, Director. Victor Creed is a very singular subject.’_

Victor tried to growl but the things pinning his throat open, and the other things moving inside, wouldn’t allow it. The tank had morphed into the table, and his body began to shake.

 _‘Wide awake, Victor? Are you curious? You provide me with such a fascinating physiological study that I am tempted to keep you here indefinitely. These,’_  a surgical tool tapped things inside his throat,  _‘are quite remarkable. They simply should not exist at once. Nature tends to pick one or the other, you see.’_

The cold eyes of Dr. Robert Windsor swept down his body, smiling at the array of tools forcing the flesh to remain open for him.

_‘I will find a way to block your healing, Victor. Would you like that? Perhaps then you might have some anesthetic. For now, it is sufficient that I’ve found a way to stop the bothersome screaming. Pay attention now, and learn something – there is no greater gift a creature can receive than knowledge about what makes it tick.’_

The dripping scalpel glittered in the bloody gloved hand. On an instruments table nearby,  the flat, serrated, and shining menace of a bonesaw waited.

 _‘Oh, that,’_  Dr. Windsor spoke again. His face slowly turned a ghostly white, the eyes beginning to glow as red as the diamond mark on his forehead. Sinister smiled down at him.  _‘As I haven’t yet found the root of the healing factor in your body, I shall have to search inside that empty skull of yours.’_

Hate fired his blood. His muscles clenched, felt the metal securing him down, and shoved. The metal screamed and squealed, finally gave way, and crashed down beside him. Lurching up, he sat in a pooling smear of his own blood and began frantically pulling large pieces of torn metal out of his body. A growl stuttered out in pain before it began. The throat and chest were damaged.

Scenting the air around him, he smelled nothing living close by, but he could hear humans moving at a great distance, through a barrier. He tried to calm his breathing, shaking his head to throw off the nightmares. The movement bloomed into mute agony.

His hands lifted to his face. He retracted his claws and tried to feel and remove shrapnel from his eyes. Slowly, he slumped, knowing the debris was too small and too many. He took a deep breath and tried not to think about Sinister doing the same thing just to study them. Nausea hit him and was sluggishly abated by a depleted healing factor as he let the claws on his index fingers grow out just enough. Waiting until his hands stopped trembling, he pierced the claws through the lids and cut the eyes out of their sockets.

Shaking and desperate, he had to tip his palm and let them fall. They were too fouled by sharp metal splinters to do him any good as fuel.

With huffing breaths, he pulled himself over onto hands and knees and instantly fell forward. One arm was useless and had to be dragged. The hole that the projectile had blown in his chest and shoulder had nearly severed it – only the bare shining bones and a few tendons and torn muscle tissue was left. He fought to crawl over the wreckage that had pinned and stabbed him. Not too far away, he could smell meat. It wasn’t his kill. The way it had been mangled had rendered it little better than fouled carrion.

 _Doesn’t matter,_  the thinking mind told the animal mind deep within.  _It’s meat. Need it…_

His stomach flipped and twisted again when he reached it, sliding in the evacuated mess to get there. He had to keep it from getting in the wounds, so it wouldn’t make them fester before they healed. Lifting his good hand out of the bloody muck, he wiped it as clean as he could on his ragged coat before leaning down to the meat.

Groping blindly, going by smell, he cut away what he could find that hadn’t touched the floor or been tainted by the pierced bowels, and stuffed the strips and gobbets into his mouth. The faint scent of adamantium on the corpses confused him, and the scent of a long-dead animal, a predator, only made it worse. He bent lower over it and ate quickly so he could heal and get away from it. Every swallow flared in pain. He gleaned as much as he could, even crushing some of the bones for the rich marrow and cutting into the skulls to eat the brains. Faces and eyes were plucked, stripped, and eaten. In the end, all that remained were flat sacks of skin, pieces of bone, and the torn and tainted parts he didn’t dare consume.

He didn’t know how long he slumped there on his knees against a low metal box. Time meant nothing and his thoughts were empty as his body finally began to sting and buzz with healing.

Outside, still at a distance, the humans were closer. He shifted and felt something hard under his knee. It had many scents on it, and one of them was his. Without thinking, he picked it up and shoved it into a pocket of his tattered and fouled coat.

When he could rise to his feet at last, he stumbled forward. His fingers had touched long scratched lines in the metal box as he rose, but they made no more sense than the rest of it.

Cool fresh air was ahead of him. Until he was standing outside the wide open door and scented the burned metal of the fence, and the blood trail on the concrete, he hadn’t remembered a thing.

He knew parts of his body were burned. The blackened flesh had a taint to it – plasma fire burn. “T-t-ta-tab-ith-a,” he stammered as his throat finally closed. Another scent covered hers, and that one made a newborn growl thrum in his slowly knitting chest.  _Ellison. He’s huntin’ ‘er…_

Claws rended the fence out of his way as he stumbled through it into the woods. He was blind, but he didn’t need eyes to track them. His body wasn’t healed yet, but he didn’t care. When he could, he hit all-fours and began to race along the trail, ignoring the injuries that tried to heal even while he tore them anew as he pushed himself to reach her.

In the distance, her voice screamed out, “Victor, don’t! Please! Oh, God, please… I love you, don’t do this!” Something metal exploded, bullets, a clip – she was still fighting. To let her attacker know he was coming, he let out a roar.

She was sobbing, he could smell her blood. Other scents, concrete, metal: the fence, dumpsters, the vehicle.

“Please … leave me alone…” she begged, crying.

Victor heard and smelled it when she burned out the door lock.  _She must be tryin’ t’ climb int’ tha seat. She … thinks I hurt ‘er, hunted ‘er…_ The other scent turned him.  _Ellison…_

He jumped and his claws bit deep across the back. The man stumbled, remained on his feet, and began to run. Victor crouched to jump again, but froze at the sound of Tabitha’s ragged scream of pain.

 _What is threatenin’ ‘er?_  “Tabitha!” Victor screamed.

He snarled when the air moved and something heavy landed in a predatory crouch on the roof of the vehicle. The metal squealed and crunched under it.

Tabitha screamed at it, “Go away!”

Victor advanced and crouched. Whatever it was, it had his scent but the wind had turned against him. He snarled and then roared out a challenge.  _My mate, my cub… Kill ya, kill…_

The rival jumped down from the roof, rocking the vehicle and dislodging Tabitha. He heard her hit hard. Her weak voice whispered, “Victor, please…”

Unable to hear her anymore, barely able to hear her fading breathing, he growled, baring all of his teeth and claws. His mind groped for her name to call out to her again, but he knew the red rage was taking him down.

When his healing body began to restore his sight, all he could make out was a dark shape, crouched as he was, between him and his mate. As the wind turned again, the rival’s scent hit him and hate blinded him at the same moment that his eyes showed him a clenched hairy fist, with shining adamantium blades erupting from it with a ~snikt~. Victor hissed.

“I heard tha lady say ‘Go away’, Vic – didn’t ya?”

With a roar, he jumped and they struck each other mid-air. His claws bit deep and pulled to slash as a trio of blades sank into his gut. They fell in a tangle of tearing and stabbing claws and snapping teeth.

Victor used his greater weight to roll and pin the runt, but then the blades stabbed through his thigh and the leg gave. Logan struck his shoulder with his head and toppled him. Without hesitation, the moment he landed on his back, all six blades punched deep into his chest.

Pinned, Victor snarled, his claws tearing flesh from the arms. Logan twisted a wrist and Victor screamed, his back arching, lifting his enemy up.

“Be still, rot ya, yer in no shape t’ beat me an’ ya fuckin’ know it! What’d she do, drop an outhouse on yer head? Yer torn up bad, Vic – yer body can’t hack this.”

“Eat shit, runt…”

“I ain’t got time t’ play, asshole; yer prey is hurt an’ she happens t’ be a friend o’ mine. I’ll do what I gotta t’ put ya down an’ keep ya there long ‘nuff  t’ help ‘er, but I ain’t gonna let ‘er lie there an’ bleed while I jack with ya.”

“Tab-Tabitha…” Victor’s thoughts whirled.

“That’s tha one – ya been hopin’ t’ mess ‘er up fer a while, ain’t ya? Not gonna let ya finish tha job, bub.”

He hadn’t gotten all of the shrapnel and the concrete was tearing open the burns on his back and shoulders. Running and fighting had torn his chest open deep inside the crater of flesh left by the exploding projectile. He was ripped up, and if he continued to fight, she could die. Instinct screamed at him as he forced his body to go still under his enemy.

“Playin’ ‘possum?”

“Help ‘er…” he whispered.

“What tha fuck?”

Victor growled. “Help ‘er, ya fuckin’ useless dog cunt! Take tha fuckin’ truck…” he hissed, and then wheezed. One of the blades had knicked a lung. He could feel his body trying to heal around them. “Promise … help ‘er…”

The other wrist twisted and Victor screamed again.

“Gonna slice yer usless shriveled heart in two in a minute, just fer talkin’ t’ me with people in yer bloody fuckin’ teeth. This better not be a fuckin’ trick; if it is, tha next one’s goin’ right up int’ yer garbage brain – just fer old time’s sake.”

Glaring up at him, Victor felt his mind start to slip away. His jaw dropped and snapped up weakly, biting at air.

“Stay down, bub – if ya don’t, I’ll put ya down fer a fuckin’ year.” The fists jerked down before they yanked out, opening his body in six long bleeding rents.

Barely able to form thoughts or words, Victor forced himself to stay down. “T … ab… H-help…”

“Oughta take yer fuckin’ head off, ya stinkin’ sick bastard.”

Knowing he’d see it as an insult, a sign he was beaten, the runt turned his back on him and walked away. By the vehicle, he heard him let out a string of profanities. He listened as the back door was opened and Tabitha was picked up and placed in the backseat. The door slammed shut.

Boots returned and the furry face, twisted with hate and disgust came close as he knelt on one knee beside him. “Need t’ borrow yer keys, asshole.” Finding them in the coat pocket by scent, he palmed them. Standing to his feet, a boot came down and chrushed Victor’s trachea and hyoid bones at once. “Raped ‘er, knocked ‘er up – I’m gonna find ya later, bub – count on it.” The boot stomped down harder and twisted, and if he didn’t have adamantium on his spine, it would have broken.

Mute and bleeding, he listened to the vehicle as it started up and peeled away at high speed. His eyes had grown back and fully healed, but he couldn’t get up. He remained as still as possible and stared up at the stars and dark clouds. To his left, a faint glow still lit the night sky and sirens were everywhere.

It was hours before he could roll over and crawl. He made it to the fence and crawled through it. Under the cover of the trees, he found a thatch of underbrush and clawed his way into it. Curling into a fetal ball, one hand pressed to his bleeding chest, he scented the air once more before his eyes closed.

Victor tried to retreat deeper into the mind of the beast within, but the beast was grieving again, angry and torn over the loss of his mate and cub. As he sank underneath the pain, he tumbled right back into the nightmares.

_Tabitha … wait…_

It was his last sane thought for a long time.

*****************************************************************

Everything around her smelled stale and sterile at once. She heard someone in the room and her eyes flew open, sure it was Victor and he’d be angry that she’d tried to fake still being asleep. Her nightmares had been full of him – hurting her, loving her, and then hurting her again.

A man and woman, both in the universal costume of hospital staff were smiling kindly down at her. The woman wore the white coat, though, and the man had on white scrubs.

“Good to see you awake,” the woman said. “You woke before, a few times, but you may not remember it. I’m Dr. Reneaux, this is Mike. I need to check you and make sure you’re okay, is that all right?”

Tabitha looked down and saw her bandaged arm on her stomach. “Okay…” She endured all of their doctor crap in silence unless they asked her a question, which they did a lot. When they wanted her name, she asked, “Where am I?”

“Lion’s Gate Hospital. Your name?”

“Tabitha … Smith. How did I get here?”

“A very gruff and frankly frightening man drove you into ER. He’s still here, he refused to leave. He’s down the hall and claims he’s a friend.”

“He’s here?” Tabitha recoiled.

“Is he not a friend? We can have him removed.”

“No! He’d just kill you all. I have to leave!”

“Tabitha wait,” the doctor raised her hand to entreat her, but she’d figured out what Mike was for, and settled back down. “He wouldn’t give his name, but he said to tell you he was a ‘nosy bastard who’s done telling you how to run your life’.”

“Huh?” She added in a whisper, “Is he a huge blonde guy with massive fangs coming out of the bottom half of his face?”

“Decidedly not. Is the huge blonde man the one who hurt you? You’ve been repeating a name in your sleep – Victor?”

Tabitha closed her eyes. “Yes, he hurt me.”

“Mike, would you please wait outside? Thank you.” The door closed. “Tabitha, we found injuries that are consistant with rape – and also … you are pregnant.”

Her eyes opened and she stared at the doctor. “I am? I mean, I still am?”

“Yes – you knew?”

“Yeah, I knew. I thought all the … injuries … might have changed that.” She looked away, frowning.

“No, you are still pregnant. It’s early enough for options, if you want to discuss that.” The doctor was studying her, but Tabitha didn’t look at her. “Do you want to speak to anyone? We have access to counselors, rape crisis center advocates … or is there someone you wish to call?”

“Where’s my stuff? My phone?”

“The man who brought you had your purse and phone, he finally gave them to me when I promised to give them to you. They are in the top drawer of your dresser, there, but please don’t try to get out of bed. Call a nurse if you need any help. You have a catheter in, and you need the I.V. drip.”

“I think … I need to talk to the man who drove me here.”

“Very well. Perhaps he’ll stop making my nurses crazy if he can visit and see for himself that you’re all right.”

“Am I? All right?”

“You need to heal, but yes – you will be. The nurse call button is right there, please let us know if you need anything.”

The doctor stepped out and left the door ajar. Assured it wasn’t Victor, she didn’t know what to make of the cryptic message. Could it be some biker type who liked to play laser tag and had decided to play Good Samaritan? Exhausted, she nearly drifted off to sleep again. She was eyeballing the I.V. drip suspiciously when the door opened wide.

“Hiya darlin’…”

Tabitha flinched and then stared at her visitor with her mouth open. Short, hairy, and built like a brick tank, the Wolverine stood there in a black t-shirt, jeans, and the trademark scuffed cowboy boots, bomber jacket, and worn brown cowboy hat. His long black hair was as wild as usual, but the crystal blue eyes were darker than she remembered, as if shadowed with too much pain. She wondered if she looked the same.

“Logan…?”

“Just wanted t’ be sure ya were okay. Won’t trouble ya, if ya’d rather, but I wanna stick ‘round, if that’s awright with ya – just in case. He might come back.”

“He,” she whispered. Tears rose in her eyes.

“I can camp in tha hall outside, there’s a bench…”

Tabitha bit her lip. They both knew he’d never been her favorite person. “Would you stay in here? There’s a couch…”

He met her gaze and nodded. “Ya got it.”

“Aren’t you going to ask me what happened?”

“Bet I can guess, but that’s up t’ ya.”

“How are you even here?”

“Didn’t originally plan t’ come t’ look fer ya, had no clue ya were here. Knew ya weren’t in Detroit…”

“I’m sorry about that. If I had a brain, I would’ve begged you to come save me then.”

“Wouldn’t hafta beg – askin’ works. Original plan was t’ come here t’ find a friend o’ mine.”

“Did you find them?”

“In a manner o’ speakin’. Don’t need t’ jaw ‘bout that now. Ya need anythin’?”

Tabitha started to cry before she even knew she was about to. “You know, don’t you?” She set her good hand on her stomach.

“Yeah, I know. Know he raped ya an’ tore ya up, too. Gonna make ‘im pay fer that, but gotta make sure yer safe – that’s more important.”

 _He must have planned it all, just like he told me he was. Oh, God, he fucking told me all of it… Saying he wanted me, wanted our baby, how he was … how could it all be lies? He was trying to kill me..._  Gulping, unable to stop the tears, she asked, “Did you stop him?”

“As much as either o’ us ever manage t’ stop each other, yeah. Put ‘im down hard ‘nuff  t’ keep ‘im there awhile, but had t’ get ya out.”

“Thank you.”

“It’s what we do fer each other, darlin’. Yer family.”

“I thought none of you cared anymore… He said you didn’t, not even Betsy, or … Sam…”

“That piece o’ filth is real good at manipulatin’. He thinks it’s fun.”

Her fingers slid up to cover the scars of Victor’s marks. “He said you’d know what these meant, his ‘marks’ … on a ‘living throat’…”

“Probly did that fer show an’ t’ make ya think we’d turn ya out fer it. Wish I coulda helped ya sooner – but I ain’t gonna blame ya fer shit, got it? I know ‘im, know how he is, what he does. If he had some game he was runnin’, turnin’ ya inside out, how’s that yer fault? Ya don’t gotta be ashamed o’ those scars.”

Tabitha crumpled and cried harder.  _He doesn’t know, doesn’t understand – that I was in the middle of choosing to be Victor’s mate. He’d hate me if he knew that, but I need him here – if Victor comes back…_  “How did you … find me there?”

“After yer distress call disguised as a homesick chat, I asked Chuck t’ look fer ya with Cerebra. He pinpointed ya in North Vancouver an’ caught a whiff o’ people who remembered seein’ Creed at a gas station, with a blonde in ‘is SUV. That pretty much made it a red alert. Stormy scrambled tha Blackbird an’ dropped me off t’ get ya outta that jam. Planned t’ come out here tha long way already, so stayin’ ain’t a prob. As long as it takes.”

“Wow…” She tried to wipe her tears, but more fell. “Logan…?”

When she opened her arm for a hug, she nearly held her breath as he hesitated, but then he walked up and embraced her gently. She ended up crying against his chest while trying not to think about when she had cried on Victor’s.

“Yer Doc says ya can’t leave yet, ‘specially since ya don’t live here an’ can’t just go home t’ finish healin’, but that mighta been cuz she didn’t wanna lemme try t’ take ya anywhere. I asked tha nurse that likes me, though, an’ she said ya could go home in a few days t’ a week. Ya done most o’ yer healin’ in yer sleep.”

Tabitha sniffed. “How … long have I been here?”

“Nearly a month, mostly cuz o’ yer arm. Ya were in a coma from excessive blood loss, an’ smashed yer head pretty hard when ya fell from the vehicle. That was probly my fault…”

“Why?”

“Had t’ come at ‘im from downwind so I could smell ‘im, but he couldn’t smell me. Saw he was fucked up an’ blind, an’ gotta bit overeager. I jumped on tha roof o’ yer escape vehicle an’ when I launched at ‘im, I knocked ya loose offa tha seat.”

“He was hurt – and blind? How…?”

“Figured that was yer handiwork; he had yer signature burns on ‘im.”

“Oh… From when I attacked him in the process plant building, I guess; it was so dark. He killed those people… It was so strange; he said they weren’t supposed to be there.”

He let her go and gave her a searching look. “He said a lot, I bet. Ya should probly get some sleep, darlin’. There were cops here – now yer awake, they’ll probly be back, just t’ ask ya questions.”

“Um… Should I talk to them?”

His black eyebrow arched just like Victor’s. “Can’t see why ya wouldn’t. Ya got away from tha bastard, tried t’ run, ended up in there fer a knock-down drag-out. He blew tha place up, he killed people. Right?”

Tabitha met his intent stare. “Right.”  _Giving me a cover story? Does that mean he’ll want the truth later?_ She looked over at the long narrow window in the large room intended for two patients and tried not to imagine Victor coming through it. “Please don’t leave me alone?”

“I won’t. Visitin’ hours can fuck off. I already established a supply line.”

“What … does that mean?”

He flashed her a smile; it didn’t reach his eyes. “That nurse that likes me is gonna bring me eats that ain’t what they’re givin’ ya. I hate hospital swill; it’s almost as bad as Army swill. If ya wanna piece o’ that action, lemme know.”

“Will she bring you a cake with a file baked into it?” She settled down and tried to relax as he crossed to the couch.

“Probly, but yer safe here, an’ best t’ let ‘em have their way fer now.”

“Okay.”  _His voice is going to give me nightmares, but I’m glad he’s here…_  She stroked down her belly once and winced when she saw he’d noticed it. Closing her eyes, she tried not to start crying again.  _What am I going to do, and what about you, junior? Logan can smell a lie just like Victor can; I’ll have to be very careful._  Victor’s threats floated into her thoughts and she pushed them away, but she knew he meant them.  _The X-Men can’t ever know about that safe house, or his secrets … or mine._

~ ~ ~

She woke with a start, lifted her head and saw both Wolverine and one of the nurses in the room. He looked worried, but the nurse seemed to be reassuring him. Sunlight was shining across the floor from the window.

“Hi Tabitha,” the pretty woman greeted her. “I’m Anne. You were crying out in your sleep, but you’re doing fine. Do you need anything?”

“Can I have some more juice and maybe some food?”

“Sure.” She winked at her conspiratorially. “Don’t swap meals, now, he’s still a growing boy.”

Tabitha couldn’t help but smile. Only a woman that pretty with a rack that big could get away with a short guy joke and receive a mere tolerant grunt for it from the Wolverine. Knowing his reputation, she wondered idly if they’d already screwed.  _Probably not; this one’s ridiculously focused on guard duty – lucky for me. I’d bet all the money that may or may not still be in my purse that she’d let him, though. They always seem to._

“After you eat, we’ll need to change your bandages again.”

She nodded and managed to suppress a groan. She had a lot of bandages. The doctor had told her everything she could about her condition, including explaining post-traumatic amnesia, which was apparently why she couldn’t remember the events at the parkinglot when Victor had attempted his final attack. She’d asked more questions about that condition than about the coma she’d been in for a few weeks.

_If I can claim I don’t remember things, maybe the truth won’t get sniffed out as fast? Except for the part where he’ll know you’re lying about not remembering…_

“Ya got loud gears in yer head, darlin’.”

The nurse had brought him a Philly cheesesteak sub. It was weird to see him eat it without any trouble, and he didn’t have to turn his head around massive fangs and shear it up. She’d never noticed before, but he could hide his fangs. Unless he outright grinned, which was pretty much never, or went for a bared-teeth snarl, which was far more often, they didn’t show.

Taking a sip of juice and getting back to eating her mushy cup-o-veggies, she muttered, “Sorry…” She wanted to ask if the bread bothered him; Victor hated bread almost as much as vegetables.  _Speaking of, there are peppers and onions on that thing._

“So ya managed tha cops just fine.”

“Yes, but they can’t smell that I was lying through half of that. You made me nervous, watching me from the door.”

“I gave ya tha lies, no reason fer me t’ make ya nervous.” He finished the sub, wadded the paper and bag and tossed them expertly into a garbage can from across the room. “When ya wanna talk ‘bout tha truth, lemme know.”

Avoiding that, she asked, “They won’t be able to get me in trouble for that, will they? ‘Mutant girl blows up plant’ would make a juicy headline.”

“Naw, they won’t. Creed’s an internationally known assassin an’ terrorist – far juicer headline. Yer tha girl he kidnapped an’ hurt ‘til she agreed t’ help ‘im an’ then did what she could t’ escape tha monster. ‘Sides, yer prints weren’t on tha bodies, or anywhere else in that compound. Creed’s were all over tha place, not t’ mention ‘is more singular crime scene callin’ cards.”

“What did he use to blow it all up? Without needing me?”

“C-4 bricks, detonators, an’ a few cannisters o’ Chlorine Trifluoride. T’ be honest, I’m surprised he was willin’ t’ handle that shit. It ain’t on my list o’ trusty tools o’ destruction.”

“He told me he was afraid of it,” she whispered, “and if the plant had been making it already, he wouldn’t have taken the job.”

“Asshole told ya a ton o’ bullshit, too. Back home, we didn’t know ya were in trouble. Ya struck out on yer own an’ wanted it that way. I told Cable ya earned tha break, needed t’ see tha world.”

“I understand. I didn’t try to tell anyone; I was afraid he might catch me at it.”

“Did ya realize ya coulda thought it loud at Chuck?”

“He… I was told none of the telepaths cared, because I’d been a brat and an idiot, especially how I got Betsy hurt… I guess I believed it. My plan was to try to escape in Vancouver, but I didn’t get much of a chance.”

“Where’d he keep ya before Vancouver?”

Tabitha thought about lying, but then didn’t bother. “I can’t tell you that. He threatened to kill everyone I care about, everyone I know…” She pushed the tray away and struggled not to cry.

“Ya didn’t get Betsy hurt, Tabitha. If I hadn’t lobotomized tha bastard, she coulda gone int’ ‘is mind an’ made ‘im calm down an’ go back t’ ‘is cage. None o’ ‘em can control ‘is mind or even find ‘im by it anymore – that’s on me. Far as I’m concerned, anybody he’s hurt after that, from Betsy on up t’ yerself, is on my head.”

She met his gaze. “He makes his own choices. He chooses to hurt people. He chooses to lie and play games…” She gasped as she began to cry. “I’m sorry… He really … messed me up.”

“It’s what he does. I’m sorry he got tha chance t’ pull that shit on ya. Fer tha rest … I just wanna dig in an’ make ‘im suffer.”

Tabitha didn’t know what to say to that, or even what to think. Everything she had known about Victor, all that he had shared, could have been a lie.

_I wish I could ask what he knows of Victor’s past, but I don’t dare. He could figure me out the more I talk, or even sort out secrets. The redneck yokel act doesn’t fool me anymore – Logan is as sharp as Victor in all senses of the word._

She settled back into the pillows to rest and when they came in to change bandages, she meekly endured it. The nurse and the doctor had stopped asking Logan to leave. No one could make him, and Tabitha didn’t want him out of the room even to step out into the hall. He often took those moments to disappear into her bathroom, while she had others with her.

_Would Victor really come after me? Or … is he satisfied with the pound of flesh he got? If I keep his secrets, maybe he’d leave me be?_

She answered their questions, did as they asked, and tried not to think about what she would do. Trying to not think about Victor was harder, especially after she quietly began to take the prenatal vitamins Anne had brought and offered to her.

_Where is he now? Has he gone to Nepal yet? It was New Orleans, Berlin, and Cape Town after that, and then, where? Am I in danger because of this baby? He said he wanted it – but now I have no idea what he meant._

~ ~ ~

“Can I ask ya what ya mean t’ do, ‘bout yer … condition? Ya can be released as early as t’morrow.”

Tabitha was feeling restless, and if she were honest with herself, she was prepared to be bitchy. “Don’t tell me – you’re normally pro-life, except when it’s his?”

Logan watched her thoughtfully. “I don’t get mixed up in that; it’s tha woman’s body, so it’s ‘er biz. Sure, when it’s been mine, I’d rather be a dad. Can’t really speak fer ‘im on that – it wasn’t a topic we ever had occasion t’ jaw ‘bout. Just askin’ what ya wanna do. Go back t’ Westchester? Doubt ya wanna go t’ Roanoke. Ya ain’t gettin’ free o’ me ‘til yer safely outta Canada, I’ll tell ya that.”

“Would I be welcome at Xavier’s School? Even if they had to convert space into a maternity ward?”

“Told ya that yer family, so yup, that’s right.” He had been looking out the window before he’d turned to face her. The world was dark beyond the glass – but she knew it wasn’t dark to him. “Honest question, with no agenda – why do ya wanna keep it?”

Tabitha laid both hands on her stomach. One of them was still bandaged, but not as heavily. “It took me a long time to figure things out, and in the end, I really didn’t – he told me. I looked back at all the things that made no sense before, and suddenly they did. I have no idea how many times he didn’t kill me because he knew I was pregnant, but I think it was a lot. I may not know why he cared about it – but the fact is, this baby saved my life over and over, so … I’m not going to kill it. Beyond that, I … don’t know what I want to do. All I know is that I wish there was a way to just not let them know about this, any of them. Unless you already told them.”

He shook his head. “All they know is I found ya, he carved on ya, an’ I got ya away from ‘im. Beyond that, they know what tha cops know – that he kidnapped ya, messed with yer head, an’ forced ya t’ help ‘im blow that plant up.” He looked distracted, and then seemed to make a decision. “If yer not sick o’ lookin’ at my mug just yet, I may know a place I can take ya, pretty much off tha map.”

“So we can just sequester me, like some naughty Ivy League daughter from the last century?” She gave him a slight smile to take the sting out of the words.

“Wasn’t an Ivy League thing much, or as long ago, but somethin’ like that.” He moved away from the window and began to pace. “I gotta do somethin’ before I leave, though. Gotta go see my friend I came here t’ find. Not sure ya’d wanna go, but … don’t think I’d feel right ‘bout leavin’ ya somewhere, even though Anne offered t’ let ya stay with ‘er.”

“Who is your friend?”

He turned and faced her, his expression looking lost, sad, and maybe … guilty. “Fiona Cavanaugh.”

“Oh, my God…”

“Guessin’ ya heard tha name, from ‘im.”

Tabitha’s fingers rose to cover her mouth as her eyes filled with tears. “I know he killed her … I mean, he said he killed her. He brought me…” The tears spilled. She’d forgotten about the diamond necklace, but Anne had told her it was in her purse, in the top drawer. “Would you … I’m sorry, but … would you bring me my purse? Dresser, top drawer.”

He walked over and got it, setting it on the side of her bed. The weight of it told her the cash was still there.

Digging in it, trying not to think about how she’d acquired the money, the Prada bag or the jewelry, she found the chain and pulled it out. The look on his face was that of a man near the breaking point. “He brought me this, made me wear it. It was bloody on the back … when he put it on me… Logan, I’m so sorry.”

She held it out by the gold chain and he took it. “I got tha news from people I trust, had ‘em make sure. She was tryin’ t’ help me figure somethin’ out, insisted she could handle it. Only thing I dunno is, did Creed hurt ‘er cuz o’ that, cuz he was involved somehow, or did he just cross ‘er path an’ catch my scent on ‘er. Easy as that.”

Victor’s voice ghosted into her thoughts:  _‘_ _Somebody workin’ on betrayin’ me an’ my banker._ _She got what was comin’ t’ ‘er fer that an’ that’s all ya need t’ know._ _’_ “I found her name on a luggage tag. He brought her suitcases to me, full of her clothes. I was horrified that he might have seen a woman close to my size and killed her to get the clothes. He’d shredded … mine…”

They were both quiet as she watched him drop the necklace into an inner breast pocket of his jacket.

“People told you what…” She sniffed and tried again. “What did he do to her?”

“I don’t think … that ya should hear ‘bout that. Not now, maybe not ever.”

Staring at him through her tears, she watched as he sat on the couch and leaned his head back, not looking at her. His hands were on his thighs, and she wondered if he was even aware that they were flexing into fists and then opening again. She knew he was aching to use his claws, because she’d seen that expression on Victor’s face so often.

The memory of Victor holding her in the shower to keep her from falling slid into her thoughts like a blade.  _The way he sank down onto his knees, waiting for me to remember my promise to obey, and to give him my body when he wanted it. He had been … beautiful, and wild … like some dangerous beast in a fairytale. When I let him have me, the blood-stained pendant was around my neck. I want to tell myself I still hated him then, but that was when I started to change. Victor molded me to change, even while I clung to the dream of changing him. Then, not so long ago, I thought I had started to see him change. He told me he’d planned to make me care for him and then kill me after the job, told me he didn’t want to do that anymore, and that he … loved me – and then he tried to kill me after the job. How could I be so fucking stupid?_

Her hands covered her face as she began to sob.

*****************************************************************

_Tabitha … ya think I did this. When they found those corpses, attacked an’ eaten by an animal… When ya hear that, yer gonna be sure I did._

He leaned on a concrete wall that ringed the service entrance of the Lion’s Gate Hospital. He’d already scented the runt, and knew he was still with her there.

 _I guess ya called ‘em, an’ they sent ‘im._ Imagining the safe house in the Selwyn Mountains being attacked was on a common loop in his thoughts. He had the boys on orders to call and check in regularly.  _Should be there, just in case. Gotta tie up some loose ends first, though. Karl Rothenberg … an’ Kenton Ellison._

After what Ellison had done, he shouldn’t be surprised that Tabitha believed it was him. With or without the evidence at the plant, he knew his reputation – and his confession to her of his original plan – would ensure that belief.

Yet he still wanted to rail against it.  _With all we went through, all we shared near tha end – did none o’ it matter?_ _She didn’t understand it – or simpy didn’t value it at all._  He stayed until the cigarette was burned down and then stomped on the butt.  _Can’t try now; tha helpful janitor says she ain’t even awake yet. She can reach me if she wants t’, or she may reach out t’ Brys. Gotta give ‘er space t’ see it. Who tha fuck knows? Maybe she will. Stranger things have fuckin’ happened. What I can do, is make sure she’s safe from threats shit-fer-brains ain’t gotta clue ‘bout._

He walked off to his Bugatti and drove away, ignoring the instinct inside that screamed at him to fight for his mate.

 _Even when she does wake up, she won’t listen – not with tha runt whisperin’ lies in ‘er ear. Give it time,_  he told the beast within.  _Fer now, shut tha fuck up; I got work t’ do._

~ ~ ~

Zane was quiet as he flew them back to Vancouver, sensing that Victor wasn’t feeling chatty. He left the pilot at the airport hangar under orders to be ready at any minute. Just because the car still held her scent, he drove the Bugatti to the Ryu Bank skyscraper. After speaking briefly to Obinata about the run he’d made to Seattle, Victor went to his private suite at the top of the building. It was similar to the suite in the New York location, the banker knew what he liked, but it was bigger – and therefore seemed even more empty.

He threw his duffle bag and a sachel on the couch and went to the bar to grab a bottle. He kept it with him through the shower and then dragged it to the desk. Firing up the computer and using his New York passcodes, he began the next bit of dirty business – convincing the underground grapevine that he was in Europe living it up, and not keeping a watch on Kenton Ellison’s family estate in West Vancouver.

Within a few weeks, Obinata reported that one of Ellison’s shell companies had sent his two million fee, somehow doubled to four million.

“[It is a good sign, Creed-san,]” the banker said as he watched Victor roll over onto his stomach in bed with a grunt. “[This is an attempt to make peace. If he believes that is possible, you may yet have the opportunity to trap him.]”

Victor’s head sank down onto one arm, the other dangling off of the bed. A single adamantium claw pierced the black marble floor.

“[Ellison is hopin’ tha money will end my anger,]” Victor muttered in Japanese. “[Guess he dunno me very well.]”

“[Have you thought about a replacement liaison for the Sanctuary? I assume you do not wish to stop that endeavor.]”

Victor sighed. “[I’ll think o’ somethin’.]”

“[Perhaps I should send you a girl? Or a boy? Forgive me, my friend, but you are not looking well. You haven’t left the suite … have you left the bed?]”

“[Don’t send me shit.]” Victor looked up at the man. “[She was gonna say yes…]” His head dropped down again. “[They probly already killed my cub,]” he whispered. The claw punched deeper into the stone.

“[We will make an example of him and the others will learn. Give your pain and loss back to the man who brought it to you. Yet you should not abstain for too long – to do so punishes only you.]” Obinata gave a him a bow and went to the door. Before he closed it, he said softly, “[I am truly sorry for your loss, my friend.]”

Alone again, Victor groaned and buried his face in his arms. The curtains were drawn over the floor to ceiling windows to block out the sun, but it had to be early evening by now, again. He’d lain in bed in a stupor for two days.

 _Need t’ get up, do … anythin’. Gotta recruit a new liaison. Feel hungry, finally. Hafta piss like mad – so that’s somethin’…_ He struggled to sit up and listened for the sounds of Vancouver, muted by the soundproofed suite. Hoisting himself to his feet with a grunt, he walked to open the long crimson drapes. The sunset nearly blinded him.  _Wonder if she’s outta tha hospital yet. Probly not._  “Tabitha…” he whispered. She hadn’t called him or Brys. He fetched his phone and called hers, surprised he hadn’t tried before. It didn’t even go to voicemail.  _Got it turned off? Hospital rules … maybe._

Taking it with him, he headed into the large bathroom and started up the shower. Pulling the tie out of his hair, he called Brys while he took a piss.

“Sir, we are still safe, no trouble here.”

“Good. If she calls ya, I wanna know ‘bout it.”

“Of course, sir.”

“Did our luggage arrive from tha Four Seasons? I want ‘er stuff stored in ‘er room fer now.”

“Yes, sir, Zane flew it into Faro, and Perrin drove to pick it up and he has tucked it all away.”

“Put ‘im on.”

Victor smiled when the boy greeted him with luscious and provocative French. He always knew. “How’s my guest?”

“She is doing well. We haven’t had many storms, so we’ve been able to keep the window in your suite open for her most of the time.”

“Wish I was there. Obinata got tha jobs on hold, nobody’s pissed off – yet.”

“Are you all right, Victor? Brys said you were hurt.”

“Tha outside heals a lot faster, boy.”

“Maybe I could come out there, if you need me…?”

“Stay with Brys. Once I wrap things up here, I’ll head yer way. Might not let ya outta my bed fer days.”

“I won’t want to be anywhere else, mon beau chat.”

Victor frowned. “I shoulda listened t’ ya, boy. Tha furry female with spots turned out t’ be a lot less trouble, like ya said.”

“You wanted her, you wanted to try. I understand that.”

“Cuz ya got Brys, I know. I’m gonna go out, goin’ mad here. See ya soon.”

“Au revoir…”

Victor left the phone on the counter and stepped into a scalding shower. He ignored his dick. He’d had no release since the last time with Tabitha and Obinata was right – he was only punishing himself.

 _Don’t wanna just bend a hooker over. Got no clue what I want, if I can’t have ‘er._  He did know where he wanted to go to eat – and he had an idea about his liaison problem.  _Two birds, one rock._

~ ~ ~

Victor stood in the foyer of the Gotham Steakhouse in a charcoal Hugo Boss and grinned down at the hostess. “Put me in whatever section Liane is workin’.”

He was given one of the booth tables in a hardwood nook on the first floor. When Liane appeared, he smiled. She had brought three porcelain bottles of fancy beer. “Hello again, Victor.”

“No hard feelin’s, darlin’?”

“No, I – was being far too forward. I apologize.”

“No harm, no foul. When’s yer shift over?”

“Not for another hour.”

“Well then, keep bringin’ me these. I’ll order when yer almost done.” She kept coming by and when she finally smiled and asked what he wanted, he told her, and then added, “Throw in whatever ya want, yer my dinner guest.”

“Oh, well … I might not be allowed to do that.”

“Cuz ya could get fired?”

“Possibly, yes. I need this job…”

“No ya don’t. I’m gonna offer ya a dream job. Curious?”

She hesitated only a moment and then smiled again. “Okay, I am. I’ll put this in and be right back.”

~ ~ ~

“Lions and tigers?” she asked, setting her fork on her plate.

“Among other things. Ya don’t gotta deal with tha cats, tha group has experts. Only predator ya’d hafta deal with is me.”

“I’ve always admired rescue groups like that, and Mya loves lions,  _Lion King_  is her favorite movie. So … I’d be like a director of some sort?”

“Yer good with people an’ yer smart – tha rest ya can learn. It’s like a financial director, ya see that they get tha funds they need, an’ then it’s workin’ with government types in other countries, helpin’ tha group arrange t’ relocate rehabilitated animals.”

“This would involve travel?”

“That’d be up t’ ya. If ya don’t wanna do that, delegate some authority an’ send one o’ yer minions.”

“Oh, no, I’d love to travel. This is insane... You could hire anyone, someone with a college degree… Why me?”

“I only deal with people I feel I can trust, people I like who ain’t afraid o’ me.” Victor leaned on his elbows, clawless fingers steepled between his fangs. “Yer not makin’ ends meet here, an’ yer wastin’ yer talents.”

“May I ask – what is the salary?”

Victor smirked. “A million a year, an’ tha job comes with a house an’ servants – tha works.”

Her hands flew up to cover her lips. “Oh my God.”

“Ready fer tha catch?”

“Does it involve sleeping with you, because that won’t be a problem.” She blushed and then grinned.

“Not a requirement. Yer a smart gal. Think o’ all ya saw an’ heard o’ me last time. Look at me. Where do ya think that money comes from?”

She leaned in closer and whispered, “Illegally. Would … would my daughter and I be in any danger?”

“No, but it’d be best if we didn’t meet in public like this much. Ya’d mostly be dealin’ with me on tha phone an’ tha financials go through my banker.”

“I’m probably dreaming, but yes – of course yes! Where do I sign?”

“Go t’ tha Ryu Bank t’morrow an’ tell ‘em yer name. Anytime after noon is fine. Yer gonna have an appointment with Mr. Ryu Obinata. He’ll explain tha rest an’ get ya started. If yer not comfortable with a finance job, he’ll hire ya an assistant, but I want ya t’ be tha liaison that deals with me.”

“All right. I am very good with financial things, though; I’ve just never had the income to show that off.”

“What ‘bout yer ex? Is he gonna be a prob in any way?”

“Ah, no… He met someone, he’s moving to San Francisco to live with her. I haven’t even had time to explain things to Mya.”

“Yer not gonna hafta worry ‘bout a thing anymore, Liane. Technically, ya probly won’t even hafta put up with me that often, though I do gotta snow leopard I’m tryin’ t’ get relocated back t’ Nepal. Special case, couldn’t just take ‘er t’ tha Sanctuary.”

“Maybe I could help, if – well if you show me how to help.”

“Awright, then. That’s settled.”

“Yes. The Ryu Bank tomorrow.” She offered her hand over the table to shake his, but he took and held it, rubbing his thumb over her knuckles. “What are you doing tonight? Do you have to go home to your lady while you’re still a good boy?”

“We’ve had a misunderstandin’. Hopefully, she’ll come t’ ‘er senses.”

“Oh, I’m sorry…” She met his gaze and stared back without looking away. “If you need company tonight, we could go somewhere. Mya is with my parents; I’m picking her up tomorrow.”

“Ya ain’t gotta do that. This is ‘bout yer bein’ a good pick fer tha job.”

“I want to, I’ve wanted to spend time with you from the moment I saw you. I don’t care what we do.”

“Whattaya know ‘bout feral mutants?”

“Not a thing. I just know that you are the most gorgeous man I’ve ever seen, and fascinating…”

“I ain’t always a safe person t’ be ‘round. I like what I like, stubborn an’ moody, too.”

“I love a challenge. If you want, we could just…”

She trailed off as he lifted her hand to his lips and kissed her knuckles between the fangs. “Take me home – t’ yer home.”

“As long as you accept that a single mother has no time to clean house when she’s working double shifts.”

Victor smiled. “Won’t bother me none.”

~ ~ ~

It was an apartment, not an expensive one, and while it was strune with toys here and there, he’d seen far worse in the dirty category. Typically, she was more embarrassed about it than she needed to be, but he admired her ability to square her shoulders and stop fussing when she saw he didn’t care.

He hadn’t been in many homes where a small child lived, and most of those times he had been sent with orders (accompanied by brainwashing or a control collar) to leave no one breathing in his wake. The place was utterly new to him in that regard, seen with the lights on and no bloodstains. On the informal five minute tour, the child’s room amused him. It was decorated wall to wall with  _Lion King_ and a general zoo theme.

“Yer kid’s gonna love tha Sanctuary. How old is she?” he asked.

With a proud smile, she replied, “Three, but she’ll be four in January. Can I get you a drink? I don’t have the pricey stuff, I’m afraid.”

“Got whiskey?”

“No … I have Smirnoff vodka?”

“That works. Neat.”

“Have a seat,” she called from the kitchen.

Victor sat on one end of the couch. Picking up a plastic toy of a lion cub before it got stepped on, he set it on the coffee table.

“Those are everywhere,” she told him as she brought in their drinks. Hers was on the rocks. “On my rare and random days off I feel like Sheena of the Jungle, until I step on one.”

Victor tossed back half of the drink in one swallow.

“I can bring out the bottle?”

“Only need one.”

She touched his arm but he didn’t look at her, staring into the glass instead.

“You love her,” she whispered. “I hope you get her back.”

“She’s pregnant, or she was…” He frowned at the alcohol. “Got no clue if she’ll keep it. We had quite a row, but … rather not talk ‘bout it.”

“I understand. Listen, I don’t … expect anything, but I want to say – whatever you need, I’d like to … be that.”

Victor finished the drink. When she wordlessly handed him her glass, he downed that, too. She set them on the coffee table and turned to face him. Before he knew he intended to, he picked her up and set her on his lap. When he kissed her, the scent of her heat thickened around him.

“Careful in there,” he whispered against her lips when she wanted to deepen the kiss. “Most o’ those are razor sharp.” He kissed her gently, using his tongue to show her how to avoid the spikes in his mouth. When he broke the kiss, he leaned his head down and rested his forehead on her shoulder. Her hands lifted to stroke his hair and memories rose like bitter ghosts.

“We’re going to wrinkle your stunning suit,” she spoke at his ear.

He breathed in deep and let her heat fire his blood as he pushed the ghosts away. “I can be rough…”

“Victor, I don’t care – whatever you need.”

As his head rose, she shifted and caught the tip of a pointed ear in her lips and suckled it. He felt her smile around it when he groaned. His arms wound around her and the claws slid out, but he kept them away from her.

“Need t’ fuck…”

“Oh my, I knew I was going to like you. You know where the bedroom is…”

Victor smirked, melting as she sucked his ear. “That tha point o’ tha penny tour?”

She moved to kiss his lips and smiled. “Like you said, I’m a smart gal. I only have one condition.”

Victor’s eyebrow arched. “I don’t wear rubbers.”

The pretty brunette giggled and kissed him again. “I’m on the pill, and I did a little homework on you – ‘healing factor’, is that what it’s called?”

“What happened t’ ‘dunno nothin’ ‘bout ferals’?”

“I didn’t get that far.”

“Profession?”

“Assassin, right? Too mysterious for the FBI’s Most Wanted list, though.”

“Never gave ya my last name.”

“Your description is pretty unique. It doesn’t matter to me, Victor. You don’t intend to harm me or my daughter – you want me to take this job.”

“Huh. What’s yer condition?”

“You have to let me get you out of that suit slow enough to appreciate everything.”

Victor grinned, showing all the teeth. “Keep yer clothes on ‘til yer ready t’ get t’ it, then – been a while fer me, an’ I might pop.”

She rose when he let her loose and he allowed her to lead him to her bed, their fingers loosely entwined. She found a hanger for his suit and hung it up properly bit by bit as she stripped him. Her scent came on richer when she saw him nude.

“I won’t need this uniform anymore…” she whispered, approaching him.

The claws gleamed in the light of one lamp on a nightstand as he swiped them down her body, slicing the shirt, belt, and pants without touching her trembling flesh. He went down to his knees before her, hooked a fang in the side of her panties and tore them away.

“Oh God … Victor, yes…” She kicked out of her shoes and let him strip off her socks.

He rose, picked her up, and set a knee on the bed. Laying her down, he used a claw to cut the bra away. Claws retracting just before, he entered her body with his fingers, one in her pussy and one in her ass.

“Gonna want both,” he told her as he worked them skillfully, watching her wince melt into pleasure.

“Yes, I want that… Victor – please…”

Shifting as her legs went around him, he stabbed his painfully hard cock deep inside her pussy. It wasn’t as tight, but he could bury it all. He set his forehead on her chest, his long back bowed over her, and pumped hard and fast until he came. He didn’t give her his tongue until he wanted to open her anally, but he was able to slow down by then and was careful to do it properly. She slicked his cock with lube from her nightstand and massaged it for a few pumps with skill. He watched avidly as she put her own fingers through the muscle he’d opened and worked lube in for him.

Sinking deep again, gasping at the tight grip of it, he held her legs up behind the knees and wallowed in pleasure. She hadn’t lied about enjoying it a bit rough, and let him do what he wanted.

Victor had intended to leave that night, but once he lay down and curled up with her in his arms, he fell asleep until the sun coming through her window woke him. Before she could finish a stretch or say a word, he slipped down to lick and suck at her pussy.

“That tongue,” she murmured.

“Need it,” he answered, his voice a rasp.

“Whatever you need,” she reminded him, and gasped when he rose up and thrust deep again. “As much as you need,” she whispered, her hands holding him tight as the fingernails bit into his flesh.

~ ~ ~

Victor woke and growled when he didn’t feel her beside him. She sat on the edge of the bed and stroked his hair. She was nude. He was hungry. He pulled her in and rolled her under him, fucking into her with last night’s cum as their lube. When he stilled, he sighed as she held his head gently.

“If I’m going to go to your bank, I should get Mya and go over there…”

“I can drive ya.”

“I bet that insane sports car of yours doesn’t have room for her carseat.” Her fingers played with his hair. “If you want to stay and sleep, you’re welcome to.”

“Can’t, gotta see Obinata myself.”

“Would you … join us there? I’d love for Mya to meet you. Plus, that bank is a huge monster, and if I’m going to be honest, I’m a little intimidated by the thought of walking in there cold and telling the owner you gave me a million dollar job.”

Victor smirked. “I’ll meet ya there, an’ I’ll give ya my number – gonna need that fer yer new gig. Gonna hafta get back t’ biz this afternoon.” Catching her biting her lower lip, he smiled at her. “What?”

“I envy your lady. I won’t pry, I promise, but … I could never let you go, if you were mine.”

Victor kissed her when she look up at him. “Yer seein’ horny an’ charmin’ – trust me, I can be an asshole, one o’ tha best.”

“I don’t doubt it, but still.”

“How big is yer shower?”

“You might fit.”

Victor smiled and licked up her throat, purring at her shiver. “Good.”

~ ~ ~

By that afternoon, in Obinata’s office, Victor ended up sitting in the banker’s big desk chair with Liane’s friendly, outgoing, and fascinated daughter perched on his lap. Mya had dubbed him Lion King and when he roared for her, she had clapped and giggled.

Liane smiled as she filled out paperwork and signed things. The conference table was covered with paper in front of her. Victor had pulled his favorite chair out for her and grinned at her as he took the kid, relieved the banker wasn’t handing him a pen for once.

“So this is for my new account here?”

“Yes, Miss Pelletret,” Obinata answered. “We will be transferring $3,000,000 into this account today.”

Watching her turn pale, Victor smirked. When she looked over at him, he winked at her.

“We will?” she replied to the banker.

“It was Creed-san’s wish to get you started off on the right foot.”

“Whose money is it?”

“His.”

“That’s for the Sanctuary, right? For the work and the group?”

Obinata handed her another sheaf of papers. “No, Miss, this is for the Sanctuary and the work. This account already has $2,000,000 in it, and you will be in charge of that for the group.”

“Okay… Victor?”

“Yeah, darlin’?”

“You said a million annual, which is crazy already, but what is this three million for?”

“House expenses, appearances, an’ whatever else ya want. College fund? Puttin’ up with me has t’ have perks, or who’d wanna do it?”

“Well, I’d probably do it for free, if you asked nicely enough.”

Victor stood and hoisted Mya up to sit on his forearm. “Tha countries yer gonna be rubbin’ elbows with respect money. It’s just a number, darlin’; once ya get used t’ tha job, ya won’t even bat an eye anymore.” He took Mya across the room to see the waterfall pictures up close.

She touched it and got sprayed. Her shriek of delight hurt at close quarters, but he just pinned his ears in self-defense and laughed with her. After she grew tired, she snuggled into his chest. He was a bit surprised himself as the purr rumbled and smiled at her when she stared up at him.

“That is the last one,” Obinata announced. He gathered the papers and gave her some back. “I can have someone show you the property, unless Creed-san would like that honor?”

“Is it ready yet? That’s bloody fast. I can take ya.”

“Since you called this morning, I’ve had a team getting it ready.”

“That works. Domo arigato, Obinata-san.”

“Yes, thank you, sir. I have your card. Thanks…”

Bowing to each other, Victor gave his banker a wink.

All the way out to their cars, Mya was playing with the loose lock of hair that refused to stay in his ponytail. When they got to the carseat issue, he handed her back to her mother.

“I ain’t gotta clue what t’ do with that stuff.”

“You’d make an amazing dad, you know. I hope that happens for you.”

Victor nodded, snarled at the little girl to make her giggle, and then headed to his car next to hers.

“I swear I won’t have a clue what to do with that kind of money.”

Putting on his sunglasses in the shade of the garage building won him a smile. “Fer starters, ya oughta upgrade tha 1993 Toyota Camry wagon.”

Liane shut the back door and came up to him. “We can’t all drive moon cars, Mr. Creed.”

He leaned down and kissed her. “Try t’ keep up.”

“Try to keep that thing on the ground.”

By the time they parked on the circular drive in front of her new home and she got her daughter out of the car, Liane Pelletret had tears in her eyes.

“This isn’t a house, it’s – a mansion…”

“It’s a costume fer yer new profession. Gotta look tha part.”

“Are there really servants?”

“Yup. Can’t have ya elbow-deep in chores when I’m tryin’ t’ call ya ‘bout a critter that needs rescued. Ya share a back fence with tha Sanctuary, an’ behind that is Capilano Lake.”

“What about a school? Eventually…”

“Lenusya tells me there’s one called Collin’wood, a college prep school that goes from zero t’ graduatin’, pretty close by.”

“Who is Lenusya? Is that your…?”

“Nope. Lenusya Kaminskaya is somebody yer probly gonna only talk t’ on tha phone a lot more’n anythin’ else, bit like me, fer all o’ that. I gotta lot goin’ on, an’ she keeps it all organized an’ well-oiled fer me. If ya ever need me but can’t get me, call ‘er before ya try Obinata, he’s a lot busier. I’ll give ya ‘er number.”

“Okay. Victor? Did I just join the Mob or something?”

He couldn’t help a chuckle. “Naw, yer my liaison so I can help save critters. I hafta help off tha books. Yer my on-tha-books person so that I can do this.”

“So, my whole life just became a fairytale dream because you want to help lions and tigers.”

“Pretty much.”

“Who was doing it before me?”

“Ya don’t gotta worry yer pretty head ‘bout ‘im. He never lived here anyhow. Ready t’ see it?”

“Yes.”

“I can’t stay. Go inside an’ tha housekeeper’ll introduce ‘erself an’ she can help ya with movin’ yer stuff an’ gettin’ settled. When yer ready, ya can meet tha Sanctuary folks. They can actually teach ya tha job an’ I’m gonna get ya tha contacts from yer predecessor.”

“When do I see you again?”

“I’ll deliver tha contacts personally – after that, ya might not see me much. House is yers, though, don’t gotta be a hermit. Invite yer folks t’ move in if ya want, find a new man if yer so inclined. Just don’t tell any o’ ‘em jack ‘bout me. Lenusya can help. If anybody gets nosy, give ‘em ‘er name as yer boss – she’s used t’ it. Long as tha job gets handled, tha rest is yer biz.”

“You may be a hard act to follow.”

“Nonsense. Ya can do a lot better’n me.” He leaned closer and purred at her little girl, smiling when she giggled. “Hope ya like yer new home, Mya.” She reached to grasp a fang, but he avoided her hand. “Those are sharp, now.”

She held out something to him in her tiny fist, and he took it. It was another plastic lion cub toy.

“That’s Simba,” Liane said with a smile. “You must be really cool to get him. She wants you to keep it.”

Grinning, he tucked it into his suit jacket, through the lapel buttonhole. “Thanks, kid. Gonna kiss yer mom, that okay with ya?”

“Yeah,” she said.

Liane tilted her face up with tears in her eyes. “Thank you, Victor. I won’t let you down.”

“I know ya won’t.” He bent to kiss her. “See ya in a few days.”

“The offer stands – whatever you need…”

Victor kissed her forehead before he turned away from them and walked back to the car. When he glanced in the rearview mirror, she hadn’t moved yet and she watched him drive away.

By the time he got back to the highway, he smirked when the air moved beside him. When he turned his head to look, Ryu Obinata was sitting there.

“What ya got?”

“Kenton Ellison has returned in secret to his family estate. He will be there tonight – beyond that, we can’t be sure.”

“Then t’night, I hunt. Ya comin’ along on this one?”

“I would not miss it, my friend.”

“Do me a favor first, huh, as a friend? I realize ya ain’t my errand boy…”

“Of course. It isn’t a problem.”

“I put a bag t’gether in my suite in yer buildin’, want ya t’ turn it all int’ a nice package, a Christmas gift. Then pop it t’ Lion’s Gate Hospital, t’ Tabitha Smith, an’ don’t ask me ‘bout it, got it?”

“I will do as you wish, Creed-san.”

“Don’t deliver it yerself by walkin’ in tha front doors, neither – tha bloody runt is guardin’ ‘er.” Obinata didn’t answer and Victor’s thoughts turned to the hunt. He growled low in his chest as the hunger for Ellison’s blood heated his.  _Ya ain’t got ‘nuff  fer me t’ take from ya in equal measure everythin’ that ya destroyed o’ mine – so I’ll just hafta take it all an’ try t’ be satisfied. If I could figure a way t’ kill ya an’ keep killin’ ya, Ellison – it still wouldn’t be ‘nuff ._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "The Lion King" and Simba belong to Disney. Dr. Robert Windsor is an alias of Mr. Sinister, and the name he was using as a doctor working for the revamped Weapon X project. This story is slowly pulling Victor and Tabitha apart, but I have to say, I don’t blame Tabitha for believing it was Victor hurting her and hunting her down. “Domo arigato” is Japanese for “Thank you very much” and of course, “Au revoir” is French for “goodbye”.
> 
> I have gone on safari to hunt down and fix my semi-colons in all of my stories, and now and then, I’ve been inspired to add a line or change a phrase. The biggest changes here (which aren’t that big at all) appeared in the dinner scene when Victor is discussing business with Ellison, back in chapter seven. I also fixed Ellison’s appetizer (yes, I’m that anal about details) because while that restaurant does offer tomatoes with crumbled bleu cheese, a vegan would skip the cheese. I’m a carnivore, myself, so I missed that on the last editing run.
> 
> Victor’s ordeal escaping the plant was pretty gruesome already, and then I made it worse, so hopefully it comes across as how he will do anything to survive while he is wounded. I do have to admit that I squeed a lot while writing the brief fight scene with Logan. I love them both so much, it was a blast to make them fight. There are nearly Shakespearean levels of misunderstanding going on between Victor, Tabitha, and Logan. It will be fun to untangle all of that in the remaining chapters.
> 
> Obviously, I had to put the chapter count back to fifteen, or this one would have been 60 pages. As always, thanks to everyone for reading, please do comment, I love to hear from you. Thanks so much too, for all of the kudos and comments! My stories will all eventually be on my blog (www.mindseyetheatre.net), and I can respond to comments/reviews either here, on the blog, via email, or via @MET_Fic – AnonGrimm


	14. From the Ashes Rise

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have added a new funny part in this chapter in the form of another phone call between Victor and Tony Stark. It shows up right before he takes the snow leopard to the jet for the trip to Nepal. I will once again be breaking up the steady ‘first Tabitha and then Victor’ chapter structure in this chapter, having more than one section for each of them, to get the story told right. There shouldn’t be much overlap in time between them, though. (@MET_Fic) – AnonGrimm

I’m gonna wake up, yes and no  
I’m gonna kiss some part of  
I’m gonna keep this secret  
I’m gonna close my body now

I guess I’ll die another day  
I guess I’ll die another day  
I guess I’ll die another day

Sigmund Freud  
Analyze This  
Analyze This, this, this…

I’m gonna break the cycle  
I’m gonna shake up the system  
I’m gonna destroy my ego  
I’m gonna close my body now

I think I’ll find another way  
There’s so much more to know  
I guess I’ll die another day  
It’s not my time to go

For every sin, I’ll have to pay  
I’ve come to work, I’ve come to play  
I think I’ll find another way  
It’s not my time to go

I’m gonna avoid the cliche  
I’m gonna suspend my senses  
I’m gonna delay my pleasure  
I’m gonna close my body now

I guess I’ll die another day  
I guess I’ll die another day  
I guess I’ll die another day

I think I’ll find another way  
There’s so much more to know  
I guess I’ll die another day  
It’s not my time to go

~ Die Another Day (Madonna)

*****************************************************************

Tabitha backed away from the hospital bed and stared at the beautifully wrapped large Christmas present sitting on it. It hadn’t been there minutes before she went into the bathroom to change into the clothes Anne had brought for her.

“Logan?”

He stepped in through the open door, saw the gift, and stopped. “That just appear there? Nobody got past me.”

“Yes…” She swallowed hard. “Does it smell like a severed head? Or a bomb? Or… What is it?” she whispered.

Growling, he took her by the shoulders and moved her farther back from the bed. Scenting the air, he looked perplexed. “Don’t smell like Creed on tha outside, but he touched somethin’ inside. Ain’t anythin’ dangerous or ‘recently dead’ biological. I just smell – leather, metal, paper, an’ ink.” Frowning, he sniffed again. “It’s cash.” He looked at her. “Ya wanna open it? Might oughta be me, just in case.”

“I vote you,” she replied, and stood behind him, peering around his shoulder.

~Snikt.~ “Ain’t gonna kill it,” he said, probably smelling her anxiety. He stabbed the top of the box at a corner, through the shiny green wrapping and red velvet bows. One slash of the single claw cut the top off and made it spin to the floor. He gave it another sniff and growled again. “A woman packed an’ wrapped tha box, a man touched it briefly, but everythin’ in it was touched by Creed. Tha bastard left ya a note.”

When he stepped aside, Tabitha sat on the bed to look at it. A small white envelope, like the kind that came with flower deliveries, had her name scrawled across it in black ink. It was sitting on top of a carefully packed fortune in cash bricks, just like the ones in her purse, except some of these were American as well as Canadian dollars.

“Is that … his handwriting?” The letters were large and sharp, her name slanting downward as it went. It was messy, manic – some of the letters were angled oddly – and it looked like he had tried to drive the ink in by force, for all the pressure involved.

“Yup.”

“You two were pen pals at some point? I’ve never seen him write anything.”

“In tha CIA, same team, paperwork fer that.” Logan sighed. “Ya wanna be alone?”

“No. Definitely not.”

The cash was inside a duffelbag, and if she picked up the coiled strap, the whole thing would pull free of the box. Careful not to damage her name, she used a fingernail to slit open the envelope. The card inside was a flat white notecard. In the same messy intense handwriting, the note said, ‘For the cub.’ As she read it, she heard his voice saying it in her head. She couldn’t stop the tears and didn’t try. Staring at the note, she felt the words under the card from the pressure of the handwriting. It was so strange to see those words.

Without handing it over, she showed it to Logan. “I’m not sure what to make of this.”

“Got me. Don’t think he knows what guilt means, but that’s probly a couple million or so. Might just be ‘nother head game, ya know.”

“This is stupid, but – I thought he would spell the way he talks. I have no idea why that even entered my head.”

Logan snorted. “Creed’s lotsa things, but he ain’t dumb.”

“I know. I found that out the hard way. Should I keep it? The money?”

“Yer already keepin’ tha fortune in yer bag. It won’t be stolen, or marked. That’s blood money.”

Tabitha sniffed and wiped at her tears. With a sigh, she whispered, “He told me he was subcontracting me to help blow things up, and he said he would pay me $500,000. What’s in my purse is half of that amount, which he kind of forced me to take. I wasn’t fooled, I knew he’d try to kill me; the whole speech was just an act. This is… Well, this makes no sense.”

“It’s up t’ ya, but … hard t’ say what tha message means. Fer ya t’ use in care o’ tha baby, or … in trade fer it.”

Tabitha shivered. “I have a whopping hospital bill, I bet.”

“I was plannin’ t’ cover that.”

“Well, now I can.” She looked at him. “You said it was my choice.”

“Takin’ it could mean somethin’ t’ ‘im that ya don’t want it t’ mean.”

She thought about it. “I have you around, so I don’t have to worry about that just yet. Right?”

Logan frowned. “Right. Yer call.”

Tabitha tried to lift the duffle bag out of the box with her good arm, gave up, and shrugged at him. Logan pulled it free easily and set it on the bed. She picked up one of the packs of hundreds in American dollars. It was bound with a white paper ring with mustard color borders, and the value $10,000 was printed on the ring three times.

“I assume this isn’t your first time seeing this much cash in one spot, what with the eyeball-guess.”

“Not my first.”

“How did you make the guess, just out of curiosity…?”

“A hundred o’ what yer holdin’ is a million in US dollars. Size o’ tha bag, two kinds o’ currency, exchange rate o’ one CAD t’ ‘bout 0.61 USD, ya got two million there, give or take. Count ‘em out, be close t’ two hundred packs in there.”

“Damn. Why didn’t you appear out of nowhere and save me before I flunked math?” Tossing the pack back in, she zipped the thick black leather duffle bag closed. With a shiver, she pushed the empty box onto the floor. “Can we strap all of this on your motorcycle? It’s checkout day, and I’m really ready to get out of here.”

He nodded. “Want me t’ carry it?”

“Please.” She shouldered her purse. “Let’s bail.” Finding Anne outside at the nurse’s station, Tabitha hugged her. “Thanks for the clothes.”

“You’re welcome. Logan has my address and spare key, and I’ll see you both tonight?”

“Sure…”

“At least until you sort out where you’re going.”

Tabitha noticed her glance over at Logan as he was leaving the room behind her and smiled. “Sounds like a plan.” Leaning in for another hug, she whispered, “Go easy on him – he lost someone, to the same person who hurt me.”

“Oh… I didn’t know.”

Her expression and indrawn breath had told Tabitha all she needed to know. Logan would be safe with this one. “And thanks for helping him forget, if you can. Oh, if you want a hug from him, let alone anything else, you’ll have to start it. I think he might be a little gunshy.”

She stood aside and let the nurse take her shot at that hug. She managed okay.

“Let’s get ya settled up, darlin’.”

Falling into step beside him down the hall, she asked, “So we’re staying at Anne’s? I call the couch, ‘bub’.”

“Don’t start,” he groused, but she caught the slight smile under the battered cowboy hat.

~ ~ ~

The livingroom wasn’t pitch dark, and it was mostly quiet, at least whenever her impromptu housemates took a breather. Technically, she couldn’t hear Logan much.

_Going by Anne’s contributions to the noise, the man might just be ‘the best there is at what he does’. Bonus round..._

Tabitha sighed. She could have slept in the guest room, but it was on the other end of the house and she didn’t feel comfortable being that far from her protector.

 _You go girl,_ she thought when Anne called out his name again, and tried to smile.

Logan had wanted her to bunk with Anne while he kept watch, but Tabitha had practically pushed him into the nurse’s room with the fiercely whispered reminder that of the two of them, she wasn’t the one Anne wanted to share a bed with.

She tried not to think of Victor, but it was useless. Pushing away the times when he’d been cruel was hard enough, but the other side of Victor, real or a lie, was what haunted her. His voice, saying he loved her, was a memory that always made her cry.

_I miss him, but I have to face the fact that the man I miss may have never been the real Victor. It felt so real, like he opened up, let me in, and … and Logan told you that the man is a professional at manipulation._

Tabitha was almost asleep when she heard a guttural groan from across the room, through the closed bedroom door. Visions of amber cat eyes watching her as the massive body pushed her into pleasures she hadn’t known existed came crowding into her thoughts. She longed to feel again the way he would slowly unwind when he came and sometimes laid his head on her shoulder, accepting her petting and silent offer of comfort.

Tears rose and fell quietly as she tried to get settled so she could fall aleep. As her mind sank into flotsam dreams, they were abruptly cut by the scrape of claws into stone as blood was sprayed over snow like thrown rubies. Unable to move, she watched as thick slices of a man’s wrist fell at her feet. She felt something brush her lips. Parting them to suck on the fingers, the lethal metal claws shot out and stabbed into the back of her tongue. Struggling and choking on blood, she thrashed as more clawed fingers came over her head and hooked deep into the roof of her mouth. A terrible pulling pressure began.

She remembered the soft and open whispered words, but heard them in that low, slaughterhouse rasp,  _‘I want this cub…’_ With a crack, he pulled her open, ripping her body in two. She stared off through tears at nothing as she felt the claws reaching inside to close around the tiny crying head inside her…

Tabitha screamed when she woke, and then realized she’d been screaming in her sleep. She choked and stopped screaming, twitching in fear, as a heavyset body reached for her. The words, attempting to soothe, sounded just like … him…

“Darlin’, quiet now, yer safe – I got ya… Yer safe…”

 _Logan._  She fell apart until he knelt on the floor and held her. He had pulled on his jeans, but the rest of the heavy muscles were bare and tangled with fur. She shuddered. “Logan, please…” She started to sob. When she struggled against him, he gently let her go. “I can’t, I’m sorry…”

“No need t’ be,” he told her. He got up and shot an imploring look at Anne.

When the nurse came up and sat beside her, Tabitha nearly crawled into her lap. “Shhh, Tabitha, you’re safe…”

She hid her face on the woman’s lap and sobbed. Across the room, she couldn’t hear a thing, but she knew the Wolverine was pacing.

“Would you get me a glass of water for her?” The hands that stroked her curls and back were small and gentle.

Tabitha couldn’t look at him yet, but sat up and took the glass when Anne softly urged her to. Drinking some of the water, she pressed herself into the fuzzy robe and soft breasts and tried to breathe. When she could glance over, she saw that Logan had sat on the floor, but he had also found and put on his t-shirt.

“I’m … so sorry…” she croaked, and quickly drank more water. His expression was full of regrets and sorrow.

“I shoulda known better.” He took the empty glass when she held it out.

Shivering from the memory of the nightmare, she looked down at her stomach, her hands stroking it over the blanket. “It’s still flat,” she whispered.

Anne petted her curls, trying to calm her. “That’s normal for now.”

Her stomach twinged. “Logan, am I…?”

“Nothin’s changed, yer still pregnant.”

Tabitha sighed and wilted against Anne. “Why isn’t it a bump yet?”

Anne shifted and held her close. “You’ve never had a child before, so it will take about twelve to sixteen weeks to start showing. Dr. Reneaux did an ultrasound, and bloodwork to determine your level of hCG; it isn’t an exact thing, of course. Do you want to know what she put down for your conception date?”

“No.” Tabitha sniffed. “She probably thought I was weird for not wanting to know her best guess for that. Give me a ballpark for when it’ll show?”

“Maybe another month or so.”

Tabitha couldn’t read Logan’s expression now, but when the topic was Victor, it was hard not to imagine judgement there, no matter what he said.

“I don’t want to know because then I might be able to figure out which time he managed it, which time it was that he raped me…” Her voice turned shrill as memories and panic collided. “I don’t want to remember what was happening, what he did to me that … that… did this!”

“Hush, now… Ya don’t need t’ know. Just let it do what it’s gonna an’ don’t worry ‘bout dates, darlin’…”

“I dreamed that he got me, ripped me open and … took it, the baby…” She sat up, abruptly angry with herself. “I was such a stupid fucking bitch. He hurt me so much, over and over, for nearly a month before Vancouver. I couldn’t escape, he’d have hunted me down and killed me. I ran once, there were men out there; he killed them just for touching me. He kept calling me his property, his … whore…”

“Sweetie,” Anne whispered. When she offered her hand, Tabitha held it tightly.

She couldn’t look at Logan and stared at Anne’s hand in hers instead. “He made me swear to obey or he’d kill me. He forced me to do things with him … to him… I just wanted to live, so I … did them. He hurt me whether I obeyed or not. Then he started to act nicer and it was so confusing, but I just wanted him to stop hurting me…” She crumpled into sobs again.

“Tabitha…” Logan whispered. “Ya aren’t t’ blame fer any o’ that.”

Looking up, she stared back at him. Fear and defensiveness turned her tone bitter. “I was afraid to tell you this… In Vancouver, he changed completely, even started acting like we were a couple. He was talking to me, telling me things about him, his past. He kept saying he wanted to keep me. I was scared, so afraid it was a game, a trap – and I guess it was… I knew he wouldn’t let me go, but I didn’t want him to be like he was before.”

He moved closer, the crouching gait making her wince, but when he settled again and offered his hand, she took it, still holding onto Anne’s in her other hand.

“Ya survived any way ya could. It don’t matter none t’ me if ya went along with ‘is insane games t’ stay alive – yer here, ya got away, an’ that’s what counts.”

“I bet you heard me in that parkinglot, begging him to stop, telling him I loved him.”

“Yer doc explained Stockholm Syndrome t’ ya, I was there.”

“What if it wasn’t that?”

“Don’t matter, not t’ me. I don’t care if he got ya so twisted up that ya were pickin’ out a china pattern – he was there t’ kill ya, an’ I wasn’t gonna let ‘im. Head games, torture, rape, hurtin’ people ‘til they’ll do anythin’ t’ get it t’ stop – it’s what he does. He does that shit when he’s bored an’ has time on ‘is hands. If he’s in a hurry, he just combines rape with murder an’ walks off. It don’t matter, darlin’; only matters that he hurt ya, an’ I’m sorry he got tha chance t’ do that – but whatever ya had t’ do t’ survive tha bastard ain’t yer fault.”

Sobbing in earnest, she let their hands go, slipped off of the couch and let him hold her. She could barely think, but his embrace was warm and she’d never felt safer in her whole life.

Once she quieted down, she muttered against his t-shirt, “I still can’t tell you anything he’d call his secrets; he’d kill everyone–”

“Shh, darlin’ ... ya need t’ calm down.”

“He asked if I’d miss any of the X-Men and I said I’d miss Jubilee…”

Logan tucked his chin over her curls. “Jubilation is safe, she’s in tha middle o’ tha whole pack o’ ‘em.” After a few moments of silence, he asked, “Long as we’re lancin’ boils, can I ask ya somethin’ intensely personal? Gotta good reason…”

“Yeah.”

“Did it get t’ tha point where he wasn’t bein’ violent … in bed?”

“Yes…” she whispered. “I shouldn’t have –”

“Meant what I said, yer not t’ blame. He may get tha idea in ‘is head that yer ‘is, though, beyond head games, an’ that’s somethin’ I needed t’ know t’ keep ya safe. Got it?”

Tabitha sniffed, hesitated, and then nodded.

“Ya should try t’ sleep more.”

“I’m afraid to.” She looked at Anne. “I’m so sorry…”

“Sweetie, it’s okay. It’s almost morning. I can whip up some breakfast, eggs and bacon?”

Nodding again, Tabitha shifted and Logan let her go. She ended up back on the couch, but this time she could cope with leaning against him as Anne went into the kitchen. He kept his arm along the back of the couch, but let her cuddle in. Tucking her bandaged arm against his ribs, the fingers of her good hand laced with his and rested on his stomach.

“What are we going to do?” she whispered.

“We should get ya somewhere that he dunno ‘bout, but I need t’ see … Fiona’s grave.”

“I want to come with you. I thought a lot about her; I want to … pay my respects, and … tell her I’m sorry.”

Logan nodded once. “Me, too.”

“There is someone I’d like to see put in prison. It’s his fault I was kidnapped – he sent me right into … Creed’s teeth…”

“Rothenberg, outta Seattle?”

“How do you know that?”

“Caught ‘is scent along with yers in that club – know tha scumbag by rep mostly, an’ happy t’ help lock ‘im up. What ‘bout after that?”

“I liked the sequestering idea…”

“Then we gotta plan.”

~ ~ ~

At breakfast and later while saying goodbye to Anne, Tabitha couldn’t help but see the other side of the feral coin in how he treated the nurse. As a lover, he was catch-as-catch-can – everyone knew that – but the gruff and violent man wasn’t violent to his ladies. Moody, chronically introspective unless riled up, and quiet in general, were all qualities he had in spades. Yet Anne’s teasing easily got a smile and he was unfailingly kind – if he liked you.

Tabitha had never understood Jubilee’s near-worship crush and friendship with the Wolverine before, though she respected their whole trench-bonding thing. She hadn’t seen the alledged fun side her friend insisted he had, but she did have to reassess her long-held opinion of the man.

_Next time I see her, I have to tell her: I get it now. I’m not going to worship him, but … I can see her point about the cool factor._

She let him strap her purse down with the duffle bag at the back of the red Harley. The jeans, sweater, and coat she wore had been bought for her by Anne, but she had insisted on wearing the heavily treaded boots that Victor had gotten her for the job.

Without worrying if they minded, she watched as Anne started the hug and Logan turned it into a full-body goodbye kissing grope. She felt a twinge of loss again when she recognized that behavior.

_Healing factor and heightened senses – he’s probably cranky and moody so often because he doesn’t allow his rampant feral needs to criminally cross others’ boundaries on a whim. Another reason for practically shoving him into Anne’s bedroom – I don’t want to deal with the cranky moods._

He straddled the Harley and offered her a hand up behind him. When she was settled and had her coat tucked, she waved to Anne, but Logan didn’t.

 _I hope they don’t fall in love very often. Catch-as-catch-can is no fun for the person left behind with a broken heart._  Swallowing hard, she sighed as she held on around his waist.  _I bet that’s how Fiona ended up a special target. The more she liked Logan, the more keen Victor would be to hurt her._

_~ ~ ~_

Mountain View Cemetery was big, and the oldest cemetery in Vancouver according to Logan. Tabitha wasn’t surprised that he knew the place was older than a century or so. She was surprised to see that the tombstone was an ornate gray granite upright. Most of the graves around it had flat markers, including the majority of the newer ones. Seeing the name on the stone made it real.

She accepted Logan’s help to dismount from the Harley and huddled in her coat in the cold as he approached the stone. At first, she felt numb, until she watched him pull the diamond on the gold chain from his inner jacket pocket. He coiled it on top of the stone and stood there mutely staring at it.

“Would you … tell me the truth?”

Logan looked up. “What good would it do? Ya been through ‘nuff .”

“I need to understand this, I need to know – what he did.” She approached and stood beside him in front of the tombstone. “Please…?”

“Some I know cuz he used t’ brag ‘bout it years ago … fer tha rest, I read tha autopsy and police reports. Dunno how he came across ‘er, but he probly pretended at first, showin’ off a fancy car, a suit, whatever tha fuck. Guess he coulda lied, made up some story ‘bout knowin’ me. Somewhere between playin’ nice an’ committin’ murder, she got raped – probly most o’ tha night an’ anyway he could manage it. He fractured ‘er pelvis... She was clawed up an’ bitten … neck, calf, shoulder an’… Tabitha, ya don’t need t’ hear this…”

She wiped her tears fiercely and shook her head. “I need to know. I need to really understand what he’s capable of.”

He lifted a hand to his face, fingertips poised on his forehead, and spoke from behind it. “Goin’ by blood loss an’ most o’ it just disappearin’… He drinks tha blood when he bites.”

“I know,” she whispered. “He did it to me.”

“They believe she died when he slit ‘er throat; it’s written as ‘three-inch hooked knives’ but we know better. There was blood from tha killer on tha bed an’ on a bloody letter opener, an’ she had dirt an’ gravel from outside on her feet an’ back. She probly gotta hit in an’ tried t’ run an’ he caught ‘er. Tha rest … was done after she died.”

“Oh my God…” Her hands rose to cover her lips.

“They found evidence … an’ he used t’ brag ‘bout…” He growled low in his chest and Tabitha jumped. “Darlin’, I’m sorry…”

“No, it’s okay… He admitted that he does things sometimes, he joked about it – necrophilia.”

“He wasn’t jokin’. She was found in tha early afternoon after tha night she was killed. From eyewitnesses that saw a tall blonde man in a coat get int’ a black Bentley an’ drive away, he spent hours with ‘er body. She had a carved up torso, mouth, an’ lots was missin’. He … eats some o’ tha organs…”

A sob tore through her on the heels of a harsh cry, but before her knees could buckle, he caught her. When he lowered her down to kneel on the thin crust of snow, he hit his knees in front of her and held her close.

“I didn’t want to think about it, all that time, afterward…” Her voice was almost shrill as her body shook in his arms. “Why? Why would he do that? I don’t understand!”

“Told ya it’s what he does, Tabitha. This is what he is. He lets tha beast inside run loose an’ he don’t even grasp why he oughta care who he hurts.”

“What possible reason… There is no justification for that, no matter what.”

“He hurt ‘er cuz o’ me, cuz he wanted t’ play an’ wanted me t’ know what he did.”

“I had no idea that you knew her. I kept telling myself that maybe he just slashed her throat. Isn’t that insane? Like that’s better somehow! I was … was…” She broke down again.

Logan held her tighter. “Ya were trapped; ya survived however ya could. He’s a real head-spinner, expert at deep cover, an’ a psycho sadist – but ya survived ... ya beat ‘im.”

“I don’t feel like I survived…” she whispered, and melted against his chest. A hand stroked her curls, but when she flinched, it stopped.

Tabitha didn’t know how long they knelt there, but by the time Logan rose and picked her up with him, she was freezing and her jeans were wet from the snow.

“We should leave Vancouver t’day, at least outta tha city limits. Can ya manage clingin’ on tha scoot a bit more? How’s yer arm?”

“I can do it.”

“We can stop in tha first town that has a motel an’ a car dealership. Ya can’t ride behind me all tha way t’ Seattle with that arm, so yer gonna buy yer first vehicle. If it’s somethin’ we can pop tha scoot in tha back or trailer it behind, then I can do all tha drivin’.”

“All right…” He didn’t let her go until he was sure she could stand steady on her own. She swallowed hard at dark memories. “Don’t leave her diamond there like that – someone will just steal it…”

Logan faced the stone. With a ~snikt~, one claw popped, long and lethal. He pointed it down and stabbed it into the top center of the tombstone, gave his arm a twist, and then retracted it with a sharp ~snakt~.

Once more feeling numb, Tabitha watched him lift the diamond by its chain. He let it hang for a moment over the hole, and then dropped it down deep inside the stone. Silently, Tabitha selected one of the long stem white roses from a vase nestled in the snow near the stone. Standing beside him, she fed the stem in until the flower touched the granite.

Logan took his hat off, set it on the snow, and went to his knees again before the carved letters and dates. His fingers traced the first name. “Fiona… I shoulda been here sooner, darlin’. Ain’t even been in tha real world lately, but I made ya a promise an’ I  … didn’t keep it. Don’t matter none t’ ya now, I guess, but – I’m sorry…”

Tabitha picked up his hat and handed it back as he rose and faced her. When she reached for his hand, he took her cold fingers in his.

~ ~ ~

From inside the Seattle estate’s tall privacy fence, through the grounds to the house, and in an appalling amount of rooms within it, all they found was bloated corpses: slashed, broken, eviscerated, bitten, torn into pieces, and crushed. Even down in the small guest house by the edge of Lake Washington, they found three more bodies.

Logan had wanted to leave Tabitha in the bloodless foyer, but the risk was too great. She held her coat sleeve over her mouth and nose and insisted on staying with him.

The basement had been turned into a slaughterhouse, with parts of dead men dragged into a large pit dug into the cement floor. The pit made Tabitha shudder.

“The men Creed killed when I ran the one time – they were Rothenberg’s private soldiers. That pit must be where he kept the snow leopard.”

Logan snarled. “That explains tha really weird mix o’ smells.”

“Creed stole the animal and Rothenberg took offense. I … took a job with him, but I had no idea how bad he was then. When he wanted me to kill someone, I refused, and he was already pissed at Creed, so I guess to punish me, he told me a pack of lies and sent me to steal his pet back. I didn’t know he was sending me up against Sabretooth.”

“Yeah, that sounds like tha Jerry-wannabe asshole.”

In the master bedroom, they found the remains of Karl Rothenberg. Logan identified him by smell – there was nothing left of the face. The head and limbs had all been cut from the body and then neatly placed back together. The corpse was nude, the genitals were missing, and across the vast bloated stomach, a pair of words had been carved deep through skin and muscle: Hazard Pay.

At the sight of it, Tabitha staggered and fell to her knees before leaning forward to throw up.

Logan crouched beside her. “He did all o’ this, alone. Did it so quiet, it ain’t even been found yet.”

“Why?” she asked, bewildered. “I guess, because he wouldn’t stop harassing, he kept sending those men to get the leopard back…”

“Doin’ it in a way that would just be left here has gotta be a message – maybe meant fer us. After what ya told me, I wasn’t surprised ya wanted t’ come an’ deal with this fucker, so I bet it occurred t’ ‘im, too. Why else carve tha man up like that?”

Wiping her mouth on her sleeve, Tabitha struggled to stand. Logan helped her up. “Rothenberg was going to pay me $100,000 to ‘get his property back’. He called it ‘hazard pay’. I told Vic– … Creed … all about that.”

“Somebody needs t’ put that sonovabitch down,” he said, a growl riding his words.

Tabitha stood frozen and quiet, as if moving would make it all real. It was too horrid to be real… She knew he was thinking about her and Fiona, he wouldn’t care about these criminals – but she couldn’t look at all the death she’d seen here and be unaffected just because they were bad men.

The growl beside her made her shiver. She turned to stare at him and backed up a step at the ferocity she saw in his snarling face.

“If ya tell me where he held ya before Vancouver, I swear I can keep ya safe. I can –”

Fear and anger exploded inside her. “You can’t! Look at this! It doesn’t matter if I’m safe – he might not even bother with me. He’ll just kill everyone I know and love and most of them are people you love, too! How many people you love has he killed? How many!” She stood there shaking, staring down at Rothenberg’s mutilated corpse. Logan was silent. “You’ve been trying to kill each other for decades, right? You just heal! The rest of us … don’t…” She turned away and began to sob.

He hesitated before coming up behind her. “Yer right. I’m sorry.” His hands touched her shoulders. “Tabitha … I’m sorry.” She let him turn her and hold her gently.

“Logan, please … get me out of here…”

Wordlessly, he let her go and took her hand. She stared straight ahead and cried as he guided her through the blood and broken dead.

They had reached her truck before she could stop crying. She leaned on the side of the bed and stared at the red Harley. Its front wheel was propped up by a block of wood covered by leather and placed under its frame. The orange tie straps securing it upright in the bed almost made it look like a fly caught in a garish web.

_I know how that feels… Will Victor let it go? Or will he always come around again, like he does to threaten Logan and those he loves…_

Logan fished out a cigar from his jacket and lit it with a match, keeping the smoke away from her. “Whattaya wanna do now?”

Tabitha sniffed. Turning, she leaned her back against the black truck and put her hands in her coat pockets to warm them. “The same thing I wanted when we talked in the hospital.”

He nodded. “Okay. Ya got it. There’s a house I can take ya t’, in Mexico. Tha woman who lives there is protected by a cartel, tha head o’ it is ‘er brother-in-law an’ a friend o’ mine. She’d be good comp’ny an’ ya’d be safe. I won’t tell tha others ‘bout this, or tell ‘em where ya are.”

“I don’t know Spanish…”

“Gonna have just shy o’ nine months on a beach t’ learn.”

Tabitha sighed, a hand straying to her stomach. Unable to answer, she nodded.

“Ya need t’ be careful now, anywhere ya go. Creed may try t’ harm ya, either t’ get tha baby, or t’ kill ya both. Where I can take ya is as good as disappearin’ all t’gether, but no safe house is perfectly safe without bein’ careful. Ya understand?”

“Yes.”

“I’m gonna help ya, but I won’t be able t’ stay tha whole time. There’ll be others there t’ help guard ya, with ‘nuff  firepower t’ make tha bastard think twice. I’ll be there when I can be, as often as I can.”

“Okay.” She slumped a little. “Will you stay for a while at tha start at least, and … toward the end?”

“Count on it.”

*****************************************************************

Victor crouched barefoot in a white and perfect world on Christmas Eve. Under the icy crust, his claws scratched the stone he was perched on. He wore jeans and a t-shirt that he could ditch, his long hair pulled out of the way in a bun, and waited for his friend to join him.

One of the trees behind him abruptly had a man leaning against it, his hiking boots crunching softly through the pristine snow. He was bundled warmly in a coat and gloves, and carried a satchel that held a change of clothes for Victor, folded neatly over their supplies.

“It is a beautiful Tudor home, built in 1952, and worth about $25,000,000,” Obinata spoke softly in English, knowing Victor preferred it. “It even has a sauna. You love those.”

Victor looked out over the impressive house, pool, and beach house under a picturesque sunset. “Yeah, an’ I think I wanna make ‘em sell it t’ me.”

“How do you plan to manage that?”

“By bein’ tha Grinch that eviscerated Christmas. Nobody wants t’ live in a house where their son was brutally ripped apart an’ used t’ decorate tha tree.”

“You’re probably right. He’s inside now.”

“Nobody else is home?”

“No. The family is in Montreal and will be coming here in the morning.”

Victor’s grin stretched slowly. “Perfect.”

The moment his friend’s scent popped away, leaving barely a trace, Victor bounded down the snowy forested hill. Reaching the house, he stalked around to the front door. When he reached it, it opened and Obinata welcomed him in with a bow and a smile.

 _Looks so cozy,_  he thought, glancing around at all the holiday cheer in the spacious grand home. With a smirk, he retracted the claws on his toes.  _Hate t’ scratch up my pretty wood floors._

Obinata locked the door and disappeared as Victor began to hunt. Ellison’s trail went from the door behind him to the kitchen, around to the sitting room and out through the fancy half-circle patio doors. He could see the man standing there by a short brick wall, looking out over the Salish Sea. He was wearing a heavy coat.

Victor stood straight and simply opened the door and walked out. The stark terror on that thin face as he whirled was worth the wait.

“Don’t even try t’ run.”

He was fast when he drew the gun, but Victor was faster. One swipe of claws and the pistol fell to the patio in three pieces. His other hand shot out and gripped the coat, hauling the man up close.

“Ya fucked up, Ellison. Gotta make an example o’ ya now. Ain’t that a shame.”

Pulling him off of his feet, he tossed the skinny vegan over one shoulder and carted him back inside, ignoring his bribes and threats.

Obinata appeared, picked up the metal scrap, pocketed it, and then shut the patio door. “Everything is ready, and the fire is lit.”

In the livingroom, near the large Christmas tree, Victor dumped the man onto the rug. Reaching down, he grabbed one thigh and the calf and broke the leg at the knee. Smiling at the scream that fell into cursing, he turned to the tree and began moving the wires of the white lights a little higher.

“What … what are you going to do?”

Victor swiped his claws into the pine branches, cutting a man-sized gap that went back to the trunk, and tossed the branches into the cheery fire. He arranged two of the larger presents, sturdy wrapped boxes, under the man’s arms.

“Leave those there, or I’ll stick ‘round an’ kill every person that enters this house in tha mornin’, along with tha ones in those frames on yer fireplace mantle.”

“It was one girl; you don’t need her, you never did.”

Victor turned to his partner and the supplies the man had set out for him. Picking up the chain and lock, he secured Ellison to the trunk, under the armpits and high up around the chest. He used claws to cut away the coat and clothing sleeves from one arm near the banker.

Obinata opened the satchel he’d brought and took out an IV bag with attached tubing and a long capped needle.

“What I need is t’ make sure ya don’t die too quick from somethin’ as borin’ as hypovolemic shock. Obinata’s gonna hook ya up with some fluids an’ then inject in some dopamine, but I’m bettin’ ya won’t start bleedin’ too bad ‘til we get t’ tha main event.” Victor stood back and let the banker work. He nudged Ellison’s broken leg to get his attention back from the long needle. “If yer feelin’ chatty, tell me what tha fuck ya did an’ how ya did it. I already know what ya shot me with an’ who ya bought it from. What has me curious is how ya fooled my mate int’ thinkin’ it was me attackin’ an’ huntin’ ‘er.”

“Let me go and I’ll tell you – I’ll even show you…”

“Got it here, huh? Goin’ by tha scent I caught in tha plant, I’m bettin’ it used t’ be a guest at tha Sanctuary. In that case, I don’t need ya – I can sniff it out myself … after.”

“It is done,” Obinata said. Raising the bag, he hung its plastic hook on a branch of the Christmas tree over Ellison’s head. He picked up the satchel and moved aside, standing where he could watch.

“Looks like we’re all set.”

“Mr. Creed, this is insane… You can’t throw away everything we built over one insignificant woman.”

“She wasn’t insignificant t’ me, but yer ‘bout t’ really understand that. Fer all we built, I already gotta replacement fer tha Sanctuary. Remember that pretty waitress I didn’t get a chance t’ eat? Found a better use fer ‘er. That reminds me, gonna need yer phone an’ yer contacts book. I know ya never travel without ‘em. Bet they’re in yer bags in tha other room, huh?”

Setting the satchel down, Obinata walked off. When he returned, he held a phone and a leatherbound ledger book. “For Miss Pelletret. Thank you for your services in the past, Mr. Ellison.” He tucked them into the satchel.

“Before we get started, lemme go see where ya left my Christmas present, just in case ya don’t actually have it here.”

Victor scented the air, sifting through myriad other smells, past and present. As he moved into the room where Ellison’s suitcase lay on the bed, he followed the trail to an ornate box on a dresser. One claw cut the lock. He growled as he opened it and looked down at what was inside.

“Ngala…” he whispered. It meant lion in Tsonga, a Shangaan language of South Africa. The huge lion had gone to the Timbavati Game Reserve, ended up killing a useless human, and got shot. “What tha fuck…”

With great distaste, his lips peeled back from his teeth, he picked up the box that held the taxidermied foreleg of an animal he had helped to rehabilitate. The claws were shining and lethally sharp – and covered with adamantium.

As he returned to the tree and the meat chained to it, a low growl thrummed in his chest. “I used t’ laze in tha sun with Ngala at tha Sanctuary, watched ‘im grow up. So did ya. This is how ya treat ‘is remains?”

“The animal was already dead.”

“‘Tha animal’, huh? So this is it, this is how ya fooled ‘er. Even still has tha scent o’ ‘er blood on it. I’m bettin’ tha only reason she’s still alive is cuz I put ‘er in some serious armor, an’ yer weed-eatin’ habit made ya too fuckin’ weak t’ really swing this thing.”

He shut the box with a snap and handed it to Obinata. Crouching down, he crawled over Ellison’s legs, jostling the broken one just to make him cry out. Claws tore open the coat and clothes to expose the heaving abdomen under the chain. He pierced the skin shallowly here and there, watching the man’s face as his jaw clenched.

“Wanna tell me how yer not gonna gimme tha satisfaction o’ screamin’? If ya’d rather not be so cliché, I’ll understand. T’ be honest, I don’t care if ya scream or not – I’m all ‘bout watchin’ ya suffer … but yer gonna scream … ya can trust me on that.”

One claw slashed deeper, a short incision close to the pants. Ellison’s body bucked, but he kept his teeth clenched tight. Retracting claws on one hand, Victor pushed a finger into the cut and fished around. Finding what he wanted, he hooked it and pulled it out, just an inch or two.

“This is part o’ yer small intestine, called tha ileum. Looks like a li’l pink earthworm, a bit, don’t it? Gonna deck tha halls now, ya ready?”

Finger hooked in the bend, Victor began to pull, gentle and slow. He had about six inches of it out when the screaming started. The man could still curse between screams up to about thirteen inches.

With one hand busy, Victor wiped the dripping saliva from his chin with the coat sleeve of his other arm. “Told ya I get my greens by eatin’ a vegetarian here an’ there. I bet vegans got even more good vitamins an’ shit fer a carnivore t’ eat, huh?”

He kept pulling, using both hands now with claws retracted, watching Ellison’s face and writhing body avidly. Even with the IV, he began to fall into shock faster than most. When the ends of the gut tugged, Victor stopped. The screaming continued, but slowly grew weaker.

“‘Proximately twenty-one feet an’ eight inches in all – not bad. Ya probly got five more feet o’ large intestine in there, but we got plenty t’ work with right here.” He poked a finger at the coiled flattening pile of pink gut at the side of the body. Settling his weight on his knees and Ellison’s thighs, he let a claw pierce under the chin as he lifted the bowed head. “Pale, weak breathin’, kinda clammy – ya ain’t gotta heart arrhythmia, do ya?”

He snapped his fingers sharply at the man’s nose and smirked when the wet eyes stared back at him. Only a broken moan issued from the open mouth.

“Kenton? Yer ‘bout t’ miss out on trimmin’ tha tree.” Victor stared and watched as the life slipped away from him, wishing he could consume that, too. “Dead already,” he spoke to Obinata. “No fight in these herbivores.”

Letting the chin fall to the chest, he dug inside the cut in the abdomen, tearing it wider as the claw grew inside the cavity. Cutting one end of the disemboweled gut from the large intestine, he set it out of his way on the top of the glistening pile. He popped the rest of the claws and began carving without hesitation – into the torso, chest, and mouth. One by one, he cut out what he wanted before it cooled: liver and pancreas, thymus and heart, and the tongue.

Victor ate each organ as he cut it free. Grasping the chin again, he chuckled when Obinata sat on an armchair to his left, no doubt to get a better view.

“Am I ever gonna manage t’ do somethin’ that makes ya sick?” he asked, as one claw punched into the skull and slowly cut around it to remove the top.

“Likely not, my friend. Violent acts are natural acts; for you, this is a hunt, followed by a meal. It gives me pleasure to see you enjoy yourself, especially after so much loss.”

Victor carefully set the skull bowl over the body’s blood-soaked crotch, hair and scalp side down. Reaching in with clawed fingers, he pulled the brain free. His tongue licked it once before the claws held it behind a fang and his jaw worked, the sharp carnassial teeth shearing it up so he could swallow it, bite by delicious bite.

Saved for last, he stared at a piece poised on his claws. “This is tha right side o’ tha superior temporal gyrus. Inside it, Kenton Ellison had tha bright idea t’ betray me an’ tha spark o’ impetuous risk-takin’ fantasy was born – that he might actually get away with it.” Biting and shearing it up with pleasure, Victor swallowed and then growled with satisfaction. “Tasty.”

Using a section of the clothes on the corpse that wasn’t bloody, Victor wiped off his face and hands. Picking up the cut end of the small intestine as he backed up and stood, he let a grin take over his face as he lifted it and wove it through the branches like a decoration. Bringing the strings of white lights back down, he threaded the gut through them before letting the other end that was still attached inside pull taut. The cut end was left to dangle over the skull bowl.

Victor stood back to admire his handiwork. “Very cheery.” With a sniff, he turned and went into the kitchen. When he emerged with a crystal candy bowl, his teeth crushing the hard candied almonds in it by the handful, Obinata chuckled. When they were gone, Victor slipped the crystal bowl under the skull top. He straightened the head so that the corpse could greet the family properly. “That’ll do.”

Just because, he pulled out his phone, which had barely survived Ellison’s betrayal intact, and snapped a few pictures of the bloody tableau. They could go in the folder with the ones of Rothenberg.

Obinata rose and handed him the fresh shirt and jeans. He took the bloody ones from him and slipped them inside a plastic bag in the satchel, unfazed at Victor stripping and dressing in front of him.

“You did not want the eyes?”

“Makes fer better shock value if they get stared at by jeepers creepers over there.”

“Ah, I agree.” He held the wooden box under his arm. “Go ahead out, and I will lock up after us.”

~ ~ ~

In the parkinglot of the Larson Station restaurant on Marine Drive, Victor opened the passenger door of his new black Hummer H1 and put the wooden box, ledger, and phone on the seat. Shutting the door, he turned to face the banker.

“What do you wish for a Christmas gift, my friend?”

Victor smirked. “5240 Marine Drive, in Caulfeild, West Vancouver.” Winking at the banker, he added, “Gift me with yer talent fer acquisitions an’ charge me fer it; tha place goes way over our one million gift limit.”

“I have a feeling it may be on the market soon. For myself, I would like the gift of knowing you are in Nepal, securing a better life for the snow leopard, and perhaps relaxing a little?”

“I think I can swing that. I’ll discuss it with tha new liaison when I bring ‘er tha ledger.” Victor bowed when the banker did. “Thanks fer comin’ along on this one. Now all I’ll hafta replace in my new digs is a rug.”

“Perhaps I will make a gift of the new rug. Be well, Creed-san.”

When the man disappeared, Victor got into the driver’s seat and started up the diesel engine. The Trans-Canada Highway took him to Capilano Road, and then up to the Sanctuary and the newly occupied mansion in front of it. Bypassing the house, he took the service road that ran along the Sanctuary fence and parked at the head of it.

~ ~ ~

Sticking the ledger in a pocket of his coat and leaving the rest, Victor popped claws and climbed up to the master bedroom balcony at the back of the mansion. Landing on it, he retracted the claws. He could hear Liane in the room. Lifting a hand, he tapped on the glass of the balcony doors.

“Victor!” As soon as he was inside and shut the doors, she embraced him. “You’re barefoot? It’s freezing outside.”

“Don’t feel tha cold like ya do,” he answered. He held her chin in his fingers and kissed her, gentle and deep. She was in a black silk nightie under a warm robe, a new one. Breaking the kiss, he turned his head and licked her throat before meeting her gaze. “Need it…”

He pushed the robe off of her shoulders and picked her up in his arms, heading for the bed. He laid her down and straightened to shrug off his long black coat. He pulled the ledger out and set it on her nightstand before tossing the coat over the footboard of the bed. Catching her eye again, he smirked and peeled off his Ramones logo t-shirt as she watched. When he dropped the jeans and stepped out of them and up to the bed, her fingers reached out and stroked his stiff cock.

“Can I say that I missed you?”

“Ya just did.” He shivered with lust as she continued to stroke it, moving her body to be able to get her mouth on it. She licked and sucked at the head until the foreskin retracted.

“Will you stay – at least for tonight?” Liane gave ground as he set a knee in the bed and crawled over her.

“Fer t’night.” His hands slid the nightie up her body to her waist, then they gently freed the breasts from the silk neckline without taking it off. She wrapped her legs around his hips when his cock found her wet and thrust in deep.

She seemed to know he didn’t want to speak and she opened to him and surrendered her body in any way he wanted it. She seemed to genuinely enjoy it when he worked her open with tongue and fingers and then sank into her anus and got a little rough. Urging him to fuck harder, she moaned and writhed on her belly for him. When he came and remained inside, she grasped his wrist and kissed his fingers.

He watched her as she took two of them into her mouth. “Gonna let tha claws out a li’l,” he whispered. “Be still.” They slid out slow and she froze obediently. At one inch, he stopped them. “Suck tha fingers now.”

Liane did it without fear. When he backed them out of her mouth, she stayed still. As soon as it was safe, she leaned in and licked the metal on the top curve of one. The claws grew longer, her tongue moving over the top as it grew.

Victor retracted them, groaning as he touched his forehead to her back. He was growing hard again inside her.

“You are so beautiful… Please do it again…?”

He pulled back, grabbed her lube bottle and slicked his shaft again before pushing it back in. Reaching under them both, his weight on his knees and one hand, the other hand played with her slick and full pussy. It was difficult to keep his teeth out of her shoulder, but he wasn’t ready for that; once he started, he would only want more.

Victor snarled when he came, and as he pulled out, he rolled her to her back. He touched an ankle and she spread her legs for him to lie between them as he shifted down to clean her, lapping at her juices and his seed with a hungry growl thrumming in his chest. Her cries as he made her come over and over were different, the voice lower, more refined.

When he was sated, he curled up beside her and pulled her into his arms to sleep, nuzzling her dark wavy hair.

~ ~ ~

Victor woke to an empty bedroom, surprised she could leave without him knowing it. Listening, he heard her downstairs with her daughter. Other people, the servants, were ranged around the place, inside the house and out. He sat up, stretched, and smiled as he heard her coming back up to him.

“You sleep like the dead. Good morning…” She kissed him.

“Not my usual habit … weird.” He stood and headed for the bathroom. “Either been sleepin’ too much, or hardly at all, lately. Had a good evenin’ – an’ a good night – musta been what I needed.”

“Also, I have stealth mom skills. Do you want breakfast? There’s a cook … even though I’m used to doing that.”

“A pile o’ bacon or ham, any kinda meat’ll do me. Ledger with contacts is on yer nightstand. I need this Nepal thing sorted out, quick as we can.”

“Give me some pointers over breakfast and I’ll make it a priority – contact you when I get a … do you call it a lead?”

“Call it whatever ya like,” he replied. “Gonna have a P, S an’ S, an’ then I’ll be down. Tell tha servants t’ stay outta tha way; I prefer t’ remain an enigma.”

“P, S and S?”

“Piss, shit, an’ shower.” He grinned when she laughed.

“I’ll just see you down in the kitchen, then, after I chase the cook out.”

Over a late breakfast, with Mya content and quiet only if she could be in Victor’s lap, he taught Liane some tricks of how to talk to the people in the ledger.

“‘Cocktail party manners meets political campaign manager’ probly sums all that up. Fer Nepal, it shouldn’t be too bad. They don’t hate me personally, they just took Chad’s opinion o’ me too seriously.”

“Chad, the country, I assume? So ... a lot of this requires me because many of these governments have you on their ‘most wanted’ lists?”

“Yup.”

“Victor, how did you get entire countries to be terrified to let you in?”

“Talent. If ya wanna sleep better at night, concentrate on helpin’ critters an’ don’t get bogged down readin’ all tha junk INTERPOL has on me.”

He watched her watch him, sitting at the table with her little child on his lap; Mya was half-asleep and blissfully happy that the ‘Lion King’ had come to visit.

“I’m not having second thoughts,” she told him. Sighing, she reached out and tucked a lock of hair behind his pointed ear. “I know you won’t hurt us. I’m... I’m going to just focus on the ‘critters’.”

“Normally, it ain’t such a sticky wicket, an’ ya wouldn’t be tellin’ ‘em I’m involved, but I’m gonna wanna visit this snow leopard. She’s been taught t’ eat people. Don’t tell Nepal that... I’m gonna need t’ follow up with ‘er, make sure she forgets that shit. It’d be nice t’ have a contact in their government who would look tha other way when I come an’ go. I’ll promise t’ be good an’ all that happy horseshit. If a good faith donation’ll get me in, Obinata can set it up. Whatever they want.”

“Is it true that you eat people?”

“Yup. They love t’ put ‘cannibal’ on the wanted posters; fact is, I ain’t human ‘nuff  fer that t’ even be accurate. Been at it fer nearly one hundred an’ fifty years – ain’t got Mad Cow disease yet. I figure that’s gotta mean somethin’.”

“Uh ... you’re how old?”

Victor winked at her. “Look pretty good fer a fella my age, huh? This is why ya can do better’n me – I’m a mess an’ probly gonna be ‘round way after Mya’s an old lady. I don’t do monogamy or even come by that often an’ I gotta potentially homicidal form o’ PTSD that can hit me without any warnin’ – fer me or tha other person. Most dangerous thing ya done so far is fall asleep in tha same bed as me. Find a guy who likes cats an’ kids an’ when ya do, I’ll respect yer boundaries.”

“Until then, if you do come by, the offer stands. Men like you, that a woman can get obsessed with, are pretty rare.”

“Darlin’, most folks get on their knees in thanks that I broke tha mold. My groupies make up a seriously short list.” Victor picked up another handful of bacon and ate it with a purr. “Might swing by a bit more regular, though – I plan t’ acquire a house in Caulfeild. When ya eventually hear ‘bout it an’ start t’ wonder – yup, it was me. If ya wanna know ‘bout shit like that, ask me direct before ya go off half-cocked believin’ rumors or tha media.”

“I will ... but I may have only heard the part about seeing you more often... You know, they even had a tree up and decorated when we walked in that first day. It was surrounded by a sea of presents with our names on them. I didn’t have the money for a tree or more than a few little gifts for her; we were about to have to move back in with my parents. Mya went nuts opening her presents this morning, painfully early; that’s why she’s wiped out. All of this goes so far beyond ‘thank you’, Victor – I just don’t have the words.”

“I prefer tha kinda thanks that don’t involve words,” he answered. When she leaned in, he kissed her as her child slept against his chest.

~ ~ ~

Café Du Monde was as busy as always. Victor occupied a table for four with his back to a wall, near the entrance to the kitchen. The plate of beignets had been consumed, the coffee refilled.

“Good morning, sir. Back again?”

Victor looked up, drank more coffee, and kicked the opposite chair out a bit with his boot. They had done this every morning for days now. “Have a sit, Réquan.”

He watched as the handsome young black boy with the long white stick and dark glasses sat. He was wearing the same clothes again, homeless or near enough, but he spoke too well, almost like he’d been a college kid. The mystery was better than boredom and frustration. Flagging down a waiter, he told him to get whatever the boy wanted.

“Been a week, can’t wait much longer. Ya probly won’t find me here t’morrow. Duty calls.”

The two of them sat in silence long after the waiter brought coffee and beignets and topped off Victor’s mug again.

“Let’s play, one last time?” his companion asked. “Do you mind?”

“Shoot.”

Réquan’s head turned as he listened to the bustle and din around them. He was pretty and tall enough for Hollywood, except for the face. The scars exceeded the reach of the glasses to hide them, here and there. He hadn’t seen the boy without the glasses, but he could scent a lot of scar tissue. The long dreadlocks tied back in a ponytail were fetching.

“On the Decatur side, second from the corner table. It’s a woman and man, white – he has tea, she has coffee. He’s nervous, and ... she was crying this morning.”

“Why’s he nervous? Tha reason an’ how ya know.”

“He keeps shifting in the chair; because ... she doesn’t love him anymore.”

“What a shock; lotta that goin’ ‘round. That’s good, though ... yer gettin’ better. How’d ya decide ‘bout ‘er?”

“Her voice, there’s a tremor and she’s facing her chair in a different direction. She speaks to him reluctantly. Also, she keeps stirring the coffee. Their waiter is a young man and he speaks to her as if she is important – she must be beautiful.”

“Young, old, what?”

“She is younger, he is older – I can’t tell ages…”

“How’d ya know who’s drinkin’ what?”

“He squeezed a teabag over the cup. She keeps adding sugar and then sips. She doesn’t like the chickory coffee.”

“Not bad. Keep at it.” The smile that won him was bright, and intact. If he was homeless, it hadn’t been for long. “One more,” Victor challenged him. “Tell me ‘bout me.”

Without hesitation, the boy answered, “You are waiting for someone, but not sure they will show. It must be important, because you’ve been here for hours, each day, but at lunch, you leave. It sounds like giving up, but then you return and do it again.”

“What am I?”

The bright smile flashed again. “An interesting mix of patience and impatience.”

“Funny. Tell me.”

“You are tall, heavy. You have very long blonde hair, so you are probably a white man – but not … like a man. You are … a mutant, a feral. It fits the sounds you make, and I can hear the claws when you tap the table.”

“Blonde? How tha hell can ya hear that?”

“The waitress in the next section told someone else that you were blonde. She said, ‘That blonde man was freaking me out; He kept growling.’”

“Technically, that’s kinda cheatin’.”

“You said ‘be aware of everything, use it all’.”

“So who or what am I waitin’ fer?”

“Someone you love.”

“Woman or man?”

“I’m … not sure.”

“Why not?”

“Because yesterday you made a feral sound when the prettiest waitress served us. The day before that, you did the same to the waiter with the French accent. Still, I would say you are waiting for a woman.”

“Why?”

“Only a woman would leave you waiting this long.”

Victor chuckled. “That’s fer damn sure. Anythin’ else?”

“I also say that because you said woman before you said man. The inflection was on the first, and your tone was different.” He took a deep breath and let it out slow. “There is something around your face, or it’s a part of your face – it taps the coffee cup, not often, but when you put the sugar in, it taps if you move too quickly to drink. I … don’t know what it is.”

“My turn.” Victor added more sugar and drank. “Yer homeless, but it ain’t been long. Ya had some college, weren’t born blind, an’ lost yer sight cuz o’ violence done by folks who didn’t approve o’ ya much. Yer pretty easy t’ get along with, even fer an asshole like me, so I’m bettin’ they had a stupid reason t’ hurt ya: either cuz yer black, or cuz yer gay, or both. Gay mighta been tha reason yer out on yer own now. How am I doin’?”

“I was blinded at fifteen, racist bigots, you’re right. I spent a year in college before my family found out I’m gay. I’ve been on my own for three months.” He spoke a little stiffly, but hadn’t lied.

“Gotta job?”

“No…”

“Want one? Here in tha French Quarter, it’s just house-sittin’. I own a flat over a store. Ya can live there, in return fer takin’ care o’ tha place. Pay’s ‘nuff  t’ get ya back in college.”

“I… Yes.”

Victor called the waiter over as he dug for his wallet in his jeans pocket. Handing the man a lot of cash, he let him leave before leaning forward in his chair.

“Gimme yer hand.” He placed the fingers on his scruffy chin. “Both sides o’ that, there’s a pair o’ fangs. Points are sharp, so’s tha inside edge. Most o’ my teeth are fuckin’ razors. If ya want tha fucks that blinded ya t’ die, lemme know.”

He was still as Réquan touched the smooth front of the fangs. “May I touch your face?”

“Put yer fingers anywhere ya like, but ya might make tha neighbors blush.” The low hungry growl sparked in his chest when the boy stroked fingers over his cheekbones and petted the mutton chop sideburns.

“How did you know that I’m gay?”

“I cheated a bit fer that part – I can tell more by scent than anythin’. Ya spent a good chunk o’ our game sessions sportin’ a woody an’ ya didn’t have it prior t’ sittin’ with me.” Victor smirked when the boy started to speak, embarrassment and anxiety spicing into the scent of his heat. “Don’t say yer sorry – never ‘pologize fer wantin’ stuff, that’s how we know we’re still alive.”

“Who is the woman you’ve been waiting for?”

“She’s … somebody that I ‘spose didn’t plan on comin’ t’ find me. Guess I’ll hafta find ‘er. If I come here even one more day, gonna be a serious threat t’ my girlish figure. Puffy donut things buried in an inch o’ powdered sugar, an’ they bring ‘em in a decadent li’l pile, like one ain’t bad ‘nuff already – what a world.”

“That sweet tooth was one of the first things I noticed about you, right after the fact that everyone else was keeping their distance.”

“So natch, ya had t’ jump right in. I like it. Let’s bail, an’ I’ll take ya t’ tha flat. It has a phone, I’ll have someone call later t’day t’ get ya all signed up. Kitchen is stocked, but it’s mostly meat an’ Cheetos. Anythin’ ya need, ask tha woman that calls.”

The boy picked up his stick and stood when Victor rose from the table. “Did that growl sound when I touched you mean you don’t have to leave New Orleans too soon?”

“I do, yeah – told tha pilot I wanted t’ go after lunch, but it ain’t ‘after lunch’ yet.”

Réquan stepped up in front of him, reached out, and set his hand flat onto Victor’s hard and defined abdomen. “I … really need a shower…”

“Not fer me, ya don’t.” He lifted a hand and ran his fingers through the thick dreadlocks that covered most of his long back; he’d wanted to touch this boy by the second day. “I gotta use in mind fer that wood, an’ gamey is a turn on. Come on, we can walk, it’s just down Royal Street.”

~ ~ ~

Victor’s claws on one hand sank into the wall in the bedroom as the arm pillowed his forehead. His jeans were caught at his spread knees, but only their coats and the long white stick were on the bed. Behind him, the boy had pushed a porn career-worthy cock as far inside his body as it would go. Most of their clothes were still on, and his t-shirt covered his fist as he jacked himself in rhythm with Réquan’s thrusts.

Here and there, he let a claw pierce his dick. The wounds healed fast, though his moving fingers were covered with blood splatter from them.

Both the pleasure and the pain of it soothed his restless heart and body, a balm on the wound that had been reopened with the realization that his mate had left the hospital with the runt, and though he’d waited over and over, she had not come to meet him at their rendezvous.

~ ~ ~

Landing in Faro, Victor growled when he saw a missing person flyer on one of the buildings. Tabitha’s face stared back at him. It was a candid shot – she had given a fake tourist smile in front of the rented snowmobile that was still stored at his safe house. He tore the flyer off of the wall and carried it with him to the large orange truck that had pulled up beside the jet. Zane greeted Perrin as he handed him Victor’s black leather duffle bag.

Victor turned to look at the Falcon 50 EX parked on the gravel runway. He might be able to coax the cat into it. Glaring at the few locals who were watching them from a distance, he growled again over the sound of his boots crunching the gravel on the way to the truck.

Perrin was a welcome sight sitting in the driver’s seat of the blazing orange 1975 Land Rover 101. With the forward control 4x4 and modified V8 engine, it could go just about anywhere. He frowned at the exo-cage over the cargo bed.

“Guess tha Ugly Pumpkin might be tha best pick fer cat delivery, but I ain’t keen on stickin’ ‘er in tha cage back there,” he told the boy.

“Perhaps if you rode in it with her?” Perrin winked at him.

“Think yer funny, huh?”

“Do you wish to drive, Mr. Creed?”

“No.” He stomped around to the passenger side and climbed in. Perrin waved to Zane and drove off.

“Did Berlin and Cape Town go all right?”

“Peachy.” Victor reached over and palmed the erection in the boy’s pants; the groan he got felt like a jolt to the dick. “Drive faster, need t’ fuck.”

~ ~ ~

“She likes ya,” Victor told the boy as he watched the snow leopard leap onto the foot of the bed while he and Perrin were still tangled up in it.

“Should I confess that I sleep in here sometimes, even though you already know? I suppose she’s gotten used to me.”

Victor grunted. “Hope she can get used t’ bein’ back in tha mountains o’ Nepal.”

“Has Liane gotten you a clear path yet? I like her, by the way – in case you’d wondered. Lenusya likes her, too.”

“She’s nearly got ‘em cracked an’ gonna call when she does. I can sure pick ‘em – that woman’s damn good at ‘er new job, an’ she ain’t got eco-terrorist shit t’ distract ‘er, neither.”

Perrin crawled up Victor’s back and bit one of the pointed ear tips. “What else is she good at?” The purr thrummed instantly, but he didn’t answer. “Lenusya told me that Liane took one look at the Sanctuary’s veterinary clinic and announced it had to be bigger and modernized immediately. That apparently made the whole group love her right off.” The boy ran his hands all over Victor’s back before settling lower to fuck into him again.

With a groan, Victor tucked his face in folded arms and mumbled at him, “Harder… Where’d ya leave tha whip?”

“Are we not worried about disturbing your guest?”

“She’s a big girl. If tha phone goes off, don’t stop – we’re gonna fuck ‘til this bed don’t smell like X-bitch no more.”

~ ~ ~

When his phone rang, Victor was curled up in bed with the cat pressed warm at his back. Seeing Liane’s picture pop on the screen, he answered it and let her talk. She was figuring out how he liked things done.

“I have a new contact for you in Nepal, he is very concerned about conservation and saving snow leopards, but also worried about … well, you. I have managed to broker a slightly unusual deal, and told him I’d confirm the details with you.”

“Shoot.”

“His grandparents live in a remote area in the mountains, a tiny village, that would be a perfect region for the cat. He wants to declare it some kind of protected ‘no hunting zone’ and have a reason to keep the tourists away. He also thinks, as a ‘good faith donation’, that you could build his grandparents a new cabin home. They won’t let him send any sort of construction group, because they want the village to be ‘unspoiled by the Western disease of modern conveniences’; that’s a direct quote. You said ‘whatever it takes’, so I didn’t mention how weird it was to ask you to build a cabin, but … well, you seem to enjoy weird, so I figured I’d just ask you.”

Victor smirked. “I’ve built a few cabins in my day – in snow an’ out. If this gets me visitin’ rights, I’m game. Gotta be nowish, though, while I gotta few weeks o’ break. Cabins don’t go up in one afternoon, an’ I can’t hold off tha other jobs forever.”

“I think that would be fine with him. You also have to swear you won’t hurt any of the villagers, especially his family.”

“Natch.” After a minute of silence, he asked her, “What’re ya wearin’?” Her laugh made him grin.

~ ~ ~

Victor was still lying in bed half-asleep with his hand on his semi-hard dick when his phone rang again. He twitched into a muzzy sort of awareness, wondering why Liane was calling back right after they’d hung up.

 _Phone sex round two? Why tha fuck not?_  He groped to answer it without looking at the screen and held it up to his ear as his hand squeezed his dick. “Still horny, darlin’? Talk dirty t’ me, an’ I’m all yers.”

A male voice snorted and replied, “Mud puddles. Sweaty gym socks. Ooo, baby.”

Victor sat up in shock so fast, he dropped the phone and scrambled to get it back to his ear just in time to hear Tony Stark finish saying, “…specs and such, but if this is a bad time – or a really good time – I can call back in, oh, never.”

“Specs? What kinda specs?” he asked, in a game attempt to cover the blunder. He sank slowly down onto his pile of pillows and as Stark began to talk again, he slid his hand back around his now aching dick.

“Feel free to write this down later, you know, if you don’t have an extra hand to hold a pencil. The circlet adjusts, so I don’t need your hat size, but since you wanted it to be tough and thin, there’s only so much room for the techy filling after the power source goes in.”

“So far, that’s all in English; congrats, flyboy.” Working on not allowing his breathing to change, he began to stroke himself harder. “So specs means a choice lies before me on goodies?”

“Yes. This Shi’ar tech uses hard-light holograms, so obviously, that’s their secret for that awesome but ridiculously pedestrian monikered ‘Danger Room’ – heard of it?”

“Yeah, I’ve heard o’ it.” He managed to keep most of the sneer out of his voice.

“I haven’t been able to utilize hard-light in my appearance changing image inducers, but with this new tech, I could put it in yours. Then I realized, since it’s memories you want to induce, maybe you’d want more than visuals. A projected memory can’t be changed whether you can touch it or not, but I can make the memories multi-faceted with sensory circuits.”

Changing his grip and going slower, Victor swallowed a groan. “Tryin’ t’ follow ya here…”

Stark sighed. “The same part of the brain in charge of processing our senses is also responsible, in part, for storing our emotional memories. That’s why so many people smell a roasting turkey and start waxing nostalgically dull.”

Victor went still, his impatient dick forgotten for a moment. “Are ya sayin’ ya can make tha memories have tha scents they had?”

“Technically, you’d be doing that, by focusing on the sensory memory, but the sensors can boost that aspect and induce, or project, the scent, sound, and feel of a memory along with the sight of it.”

“Option B, def.”

“Check, smelly memories are go. You may now return to your regularly scheduled personal time. Give the poor girl my regards.” Stark hung up on him.

“Fuck.”

Victor dragged himself to his feet and opened the heavy footlocker at the end of his bed. Digging into the cardboard box marked ‘beans’, he snagged the top magazine stored there. It was the latest German print of  _GQ_ , sporting one of those steely expressions and trademark smirk, in a suit with the tie askew. He held a cigar in his fingers and his hair was a mess.

“One o’ these days, Stark … gonna hafta get a li’l closer than this…” He’d just gotten down to business when the man’s joke cracked him up and threatened to kill the mood entirely. “Mud puddles...”

~ ~ ~

He had dressed comfortably, packed light, and didn’t bother to shave. Curled up on the bed with the snow leopard, he picked up his head when Brys knocked.

“They’re ready for you, sir. I’ve put your backpack and coat in the vehicle.”

Getting up with a sigh, he didn’t bother with the doors. Opening the window, he climbed out and let the cat follow.

They ran in the snow, bounding after this bit of game and that as they went through the gray night toward the distant town. Victor could hear and see the orange truck driving along the North Canol Road, but he and the snow leopard ignored it.

By the time they approached the truck, it was parked and turned off some distance from the jet. They were down the runway a bit, away from the buildings. He ended up sitting on the steps up to the jet for an hour, nuzzling and chuffing with her, before she would follow him into it. He led her to the back where blankets had been placed with a few caribou furs and managed to get her to curl up with him.

Outside, he heard Perrin call a farewell to Zane. Victor had to hold the cat down and keep her still on take-off and landing. One truck bed trip later, they finally reached a place where they could climb up to the small and nearly vertical village on their own. Along the way, he saw signs of other snow leopards here and there, and some were males.

Victor spent two weeks with her in the wilderness, hunting and sharing kills, before he ever went down to the humans’ village. His first stop was the rustic one-room pub.  _Looks like Major Arnold Toht is ‘bout t’ walk up any minute an’ demand tha headpiece t’ tha Staff o’ Ra. Could be my kinda joint._

He turned just to see the novelty when he scented an elderly woman enter the place behind him. Speaking in Nepali at first, she then switched to a broken and halting English as she came right up to him. She was tiny and wrinkled, and utterly fearless.

“Come, eat, I cook for you…” She took his wrist in her fingers and led him outside and down the mountain through the snow. Slightly bewildered, he let her do it.

~ ~ ~

“Ya sure ya don’t want it bigger?” Victor asked them. The matched pair of little human mountain goats shook their heads at him as they smiled to see their cabin taking shape. “Awright, if ya say so.” He started to pick up the axe again, but then the woman approached with another basket. “Grub? Huh. Smells like meat. I’m game.”

She set out a pair of little pots on a treestump nearby. He could tell the yellow and red sauces were made with chili peppers and garlic, but he’d learned by now that her cooking was worth a try.

“Momo,” she explained, pointing to the dumpling looking things in the basket. “Yak meat.” She picked one up, dunked half of it in the red sauce, and offered it to him.

Victor pierced it with claws and tossed it down the hatch. “Mmm, okay – ya can keep bringin’ me these li’l bastards.” Before he reached for another, she grasped his wrist again and stared at the fingertips where the skin was healing as he retracted the claws.

“Hurt, now not hurt…”

“I heal fast. Don’t worry, I’ll have yer cabin built in no time. Wanna get it done before tha next bad snowstorm.”

She held his hand in both of hers and looked up at him. “Eat,” she said, and spread a crooked grin up at him. “Like the ghost of the mountain you bring to us, you must eat to grow strong.” Her husband gave a soft laugh behind her and nodded with her.

“I think I’m gonna like it here…” Victor dunked another yak dumpling in fiery sauce and tossed it into his mouth.

~ ~ ~

Victor woke in the warm den and nuzzled the snow leopard as a farewell, chuffing with her softly. It was early afternoon, and it was time he got back to work. The ghost of the mountain, as they called her here, remained behind and went back to sleep as he crawled out onto the rocks strewn with little marmot bones.

He bounded down the mountainside and stopped to grab his backpack at the cabin he’d built on his first trip here. The old man let him in and the old woman gave him sugary coffee and mutton. When he left, he hiked to the distant road to rejoin the world, surrounded by the scents of the grasses and leaves of summer.

The phone had barely been touched in the time he’d lived in Nepal on this latest visit, with both the cat and the villagers. He turned it on as the jet idled on the runway, ready to head out for the long flight ahead. One text message from Obinata was enough to turn his world inside out. It was dated a few days ago. Victor read it out loud in a whisper, just to make it real.

“She has been found, in Mexico. She is heavy with child.” He swallowed hard. “Zane…”

“Yeah, boss?”

“Ya still gotta brother livin’ in Veracruz?”

“Yeah, he’s still there.”

“How’d he like t’ make a shit-ton o’ money?”

“I bet he would, boss. Are we changing our destination?”

“Naw, keep on fer Lisbon an’ Dublin, but when we land in Lisbon, I wanna talk t’ yer brother.”

“You got it, Mr. Creed. Ready to go?”

“In a minute.” Victor hit the speed dial for the banker and poised on the edge of his seat with a low growl rumbling in his chest as it rang.

*****************************************************************

The sunrise over the beach was beautiful, the breeze warm as the chill of night faded. Tabitha sat wrapped in a blanket with her toes in the sand. At her back was a beach house with a new gray Cadillac SUV and a big black truck parked behind it. Inside the house, she could hear Mara Eva Casales singing in Spanish. The words were a lullabye. She watched the sunrise over the Pacific a little longer and then got up, one hand under her heavy belly. Mara’s son was coming to take her shopping in Cruz Grande that day, and she hoped her Spanish was good enough to not need his help with translating.

Draping the blanket over the porch railing, she was surrounded by delicious smells the moment she entered the house. She embraced Mara in the kitchen and went to her small bedroom to change clothes.

The room had been Marco’s, and she had left it as unchanged as she could. It wasn’t hard to do, since all she owned would fit into one suitcase, a duffle bag, and a purse. She liked to look at the drawings he’d done as a child that were tacked to the walls, and she loved the little band of Mariachi taxidermied toads on the dresser. The car models he had built with his dad were on one shelf.

_His dad, who was killed by Sabretooth when Marco was twelve._

Sighing, she took a nicer colorful cotton maternity sundress out the small closet and fetched one of the new insanely large bras Mara had bought for her. Gently cupping her sore and often itchy breasts, she got into the sturdier bra with care, grateful that it would protect them comfortably. After spending her life with C-cups, it was beyond weird to be pushing steadily past D-cups.

_I can’t even enjoy the new assets; they’re mostly a pain. The scariest villain I’ve faced in eight months has been a scratchy underwire C-cup bra – how pathetic is that? Then, as if it wasn’t bad enough, they started being sore. Mara says they might eventually leak a bit, too – fun!_

The rest was easy to change and she dressed quickly, stuffing her feet into her most comfortable sandals. She didn’t grab her Prada purse that lived under the bed – she tried not to touch it much, or the phone inside it. A little beaded macramé purse with cash and essentials was good enough, and she would have the strapping and handsome Marco along to carry the shopping bags. He was older than her in his late twenties, but being surrounded by his boyhood history so much, it was hard not to think of him as younger.

When Marco drove up, she went out to see him hug his mother. “Hola,” she told him and accepted a hug with a smile. “Let’s go.”

“En Español, mi amiga,” he admonished with a grin.

Tabitha laughed and pointed to his Jeep. “Vamos.”

The town was small and a good distance from Acapulco for safety reasons, but the shopping was fun. They mostly bought foodstuffs for Mara to cook. She also picked up a few bottles of Rey Sol Anejo tequila, one for Marco and the others for Logan’s next visit. She chose it for the bottle – it was fun to watch Mr. Moody drink from the head of the smiling sun face.

She and Marco had lunch in town at their favorite place with sidewalk tables and she managed okay with ordering in Spanish. As always, she wanted to sit where a single white rose, not yet fully bloomed, lay on the table.

“[Who leaves these here?]” she asked in Spanish. “[I see them a lot. Sometimes they show up on the beach, down by the pier at the end of my walk. Everytime I come here, there is one. Are you leaving them?]”

“[If you have a secret admirer, it is not me. I admire you without secrets.]”

“[Very funny. You love Sofia. Now tell me everything she said on your last date, I need my vicarious romance news.]” As she usually did, she picked up the rose. The stems were always cut short and they never had thorns. She tucked it behind her ear.

Now and then, well-groomed men in expensive suits and sunglasses would appear or disappear around her when she was in town. She was used to it by now, though it had terrified her at first. Mara had explained that the cartel leader, a man nicknamed El Guiso, had his men looking out for them, and it was the reason Logan knew they’d be safe.

_El Guiso means ‘the stew’ … weird name. Mr. Stew is Mara’s brother-in-law. Not a bad place, Logan – I’m surrounded by dangerous people who really hate Victor Creed._

After lunch, a little boy in ragged dusty clothes ran up to her holding a colorful dark blue and white scarf. Marco rolled his eyes as he rose to pay the bill and to speak briefly to one of the men in suits. “[You have scarves, Tabitha. Don’t let every one of the urchins get your money.]”

She smiled. “[I have plenty, they don’t.]”

“[You can’t save them all; there are too many of them.]”

She took the scarf without looking at it and wound it around her neck, but when she tried to give him money, he ran off down a side street. “Hey, wait…” The cartel’s men were everywhere. She rose to follow just for the thrill of the chase. Mexico had been good to her, but after so long with X-Force, she missed things she didn’t want to miss.

Tabitha was lead through a maze of town streets and alleys. Keeping to a brisk walk, the running boy outpaced her all along until she found herself at a deadend, the street ending in a wall. One of the bordering buildings was short and the sun flooded into the space. The boy stood there, smiling.

“[You forgot your money, kid.]”

Grinning, he pulled a wad of cash from his ragged shorts pocket. “[The lion man is right, you are a pretty lady, like the flowers.]” He ran by her and she heard his bare feet dodge around something big as he ran off.

“What?” She whirled and froze. “Oh my God … Victor. How…?”

He was standing there, blocking her in. The suit was black Armani and he wore sunglasses like the cartel men. His hair was just as long as she remembered, ponytailed, and a particular white rose was sitting in the buttonhole of his suit.

“Hiya, Tabitha. Didn’t come t’ hurt ya; just needed t’ see ya, is all.” He studied her up and down, pausing on her swollen breasts and heavy round belly. “Needed t’ see yer both awright, since ya never called t’ say, one way or tha other.”

“We’re fine. Please go.” She slowly lifted her hands, ready to burn him if she had to.

“I waited at Café Du Monde, after ya got outta that hospital. Every mornin’ fer a week, before I had t’ go ‘round tha world again. Hoped ya’d figure out tha truth months ago.” He cocked his head to one side at her and gave her a slight and sad smile. “Missed ya a lot, babe.”

Her hands began to shake. “Please don’t,” she whispered. “I had to put you behind me. I’ve never told your secrets to anyone.”

“I know ya didn’t. Ya got it all wrong, ya know. It was Ellison; he faked tha claws, killed those men, then attacked ya in tha dark an’ hunted ya down.”

“Those men were … eaten. The evidence, what was left … it proved it was you. You were there, hunting me; Logan fought you, made you stop.”

“Ellison shot me, some crazy explosive that tore my chest out. He pretended t’ be me an’ made ya blow up yer bombs. One o’ ‘em burned me an’ dropped an industrial furnace blown int’ shrapnel on top o’ me. Had t’ eat t’ heal an’ they were already dead. What’s tha point o’ tryin’ t’ lie ‘bout it now?”

“Why does it matter at all to you?”

“It’s always gonna matter. Ask yer runt ‘bout this. If he scented yer wounds, even he ain’t dumb ‘nuff  t’ miss it.” He showed her a black canvas duffel bag he’d held behind him and bent to set it down on the dusty street. Taking the rose out of his buttonhole, he set it on it. “Took tha snow leopard t’ Nepal myself, got it sorted out an’ just been workin’ since. Ain’t tried t’ harm ya.”

“What about Rothenberg, and his whole compound?”

“Went out like chumps, just like Ellison an’ ‘is eco-terrorist group. I got tha last one o’ ‘em a month ago. They hurt ya.”

“So did you.”

“Yeah I did, at tha start. That ain’t tha whole story, as ya damn well know. I’m guessin’ tha runt dunno that part.”

Tabitha felt tears gather in her eyes. “We ended when you tried to kill me, just like you told me you planned to.”

“I didn’t do that, darlin’. Take tha bag back t’ yer beach house an’ show what’s in it t’ dear ol’ Logan. Make sure ya insist on ‘im tellin’ ya tha truth ‘bout it.”

“I’ll do that, if you leave.”

He nodded slowly. “Do ya need anythin’?”

“No, I’m fine.”

“I never gotta chance t’ give ya that surprise I got fer ya.”

The tears spilled. “Please, Victor, please … you terrify me.” She couldn’t have read the expression on his face to save her life, and wouldn’t have trusted it if she could.

“I put it in tha bag. Do whatever ya want with it.” He took a step back. “I know yer plannin’ t’ give up our cub. Gotta nice family picked out yet? Somebody that don’t hate mutants? Damn, girl – I kept hopin’ … ya’d figure it all out. When ya finally do, ya know how t’ reach me.” He breathed in deep, and she knew he was scenting her. “Remember what I told ya, when we mated, before we left fer tha job. Remember, Tabitha.” He turned, left the bag, and walked away.

When her ears quit ringing from an utter panic attack that had rushed in when he disappeared, she could hear Marco and others calling for her. She picked up the bag, crushing the rose in the street.

“I’m here!”

~ ~ ~

Alone on the beach that night, with Logan’s visit scheduled the following day, Tabitha took a walk. She held a small dark blue velvet box in her hand. When she reached the pier and walked down it, she couldn’t muster surprise at the fresh scatter of white rose buds all over the end of it.

Mara had told her the white rose was suited to reverent occasions, like weddings and christenings. They were a fitting way to honor a friend or loved one, and could symbolize both a new beginning or a farewell. The pure white color was meant to convey respect, pay homage to new starts, and express hope for the future. The blue scarf she still wore was covered with white silk thread, embroidered into little rose buds.

She nudged some of them out of the way to stand at the edge of the pier. Forming a baby bomb to see by, she slowly opened the jeweler’s box. Tears rose as she saw, nestled on blue silk, a large diamond engagement ring, strung on what looked like a silver chain. There was a piece of paper folded under it, and she slipped it out. It was a receipt from a fancy custom jeweler’s shop in Vancouver, dated on the day and during the time that Victor had left her at the hotel after their fight. That had been before she ever mentioned wanting a diamond of her own, just to tease him.

Silent tears ran down her face as she replaced the paper and closed the box. She almost threw it in the ocean, and then slipped it into a pocket of her sundress. The thing that had been in the bag with it, nestled untouched in a wooden box, had frightened her. She’d fished out the jeweler’s box, zipped the bag up, and stuffed it at the bottom of her closet.

“Victor, I don’t know what Logan will say,” she whispered to the waves. “Will it change anything? Can anything change what you did?”

~ ~ ~

The bottle with the smiling sun face sat on the coffee table. In front of it lay an ornately carved wooden box with the lid open. Inside it, metal claws gleamed on the severed foreleg of a lion. Neither she nor Logan had touched it. He’d told her that Victor had handled the box, but his scent was not on the animal’s remains.

“Whoever did this, made this … that’s adamantium on tha claws.” Logan looked up at her. “Do ya want tha truth?”

She watched him as he shifted beside her on the couch. She was used to him now – the worn jeans, cowboy boots and cowboy hat, the big silver belt buckle with a longhorn skull on it. He rarely showed up in anything different. The t-shirt was new because it didn’t have claw cuts or bullet holes in it: a white undershirt, stretched over the hairy barrel chest. He was scruffy with tangled crazy black hair and looked, as he called it, ‘rode hard and put up wet’. Tabitha didn’t care. She scooted closer and wrapped her arms around one of his, laying her head on his shoulder as she stared at the lion’s shining claws.

“I want the truth,” she whispered.

“That has tha scent o’ yer blood on it. Tha man’s scent that was on yer armor vest, along with Creed’s – he touched this, he was holdin’ it, whoever he is.”

“It has to be Kenton Ellison – Creed’s client, the one who paid him to blow up that chemical pilot plant. He … told me that’s who did it – who attacked me. He said Ellison used that thing to make me think it was him.”

“Ya were doused in Creed’s scent when I found ya hurt with ‘im runnin’ up. Whether or not Creed attacked ya with claws, this Ellison very likely had a hand in comin’ after ya, an’ he used this. Then there’s how yer wounds looked. I didn’t think much on it then, cuz there he was, comin’ t’ finish tha job.”

“But…?”

“Creed’s claws move, separately. Tha fingers stretch an’ flex, gouge an’ slash. Yer wounds were straight, exactly spaced, like ya got slashed by a sharp garden rake – just like that weird fuckin’ paw thing. Also, they weren’t anywhere near as deep as he can cut. That vest? Creed could cut that int’ strips, armor an’ all. It took a beatin’, but odds are it was from the paw.” He fell silent for a moment and then added softly, “If Creed had slashed yer arm meanin’ t’ kill ya, he woulda severed tha hand right offa ya.”

“In the street, he told me that Ellison shot him in the chest with something that exploded and that my bomb dropped a torn up furnace on him.”

“That’s consistant with tha injuries I saw. He was missin’ a good hunk o’ meat near tha join o’ tha left shoulder. Looked like he cut ‘is eyes out, coulda been cuz o’ shrapnel.”

Tabitha took a deep breath, trying not to feel sick. “He admitted that he … ate … those men, to heal, but that they were already dead. He said Ellison hunted me, not him. So … Ellison must have killed the men – after he already dropped Creed. With that paw thing, he could have scratched up the metal and slashed those people to death…”

“Not that anybody could compare slash patterns; those men were nothin’ but bloody rinds an’ a smear o’ offal.”

Tabitha shuddered and closed her eyes, trying to see the horrid events in the process plant in a new way. “When I heard him roaring and hissing … the furnace wasn’t that far away. It could have been him reacting to being shot and pinned. He came rushing up meaning business, but … he could have been after Ellison, if that was who was chasing and attacking me… You never saw another man?”

“Nope. Lotsa people smells, cuz o’ where ya were. When I got there, all I saw was ya tryin’ t’ escape an’ screamin’ fer Creed t’ stop, an’ then Creed ‘isself, barrelin’ in – lookin’ like he meant t’ kill ya.”

“If it was Ellison, he was trying very hard to kill me. Creed murdered Rothenberg, he said he killed Ellison later … maybe it was to keep them from going after me? I know Rothenberg was mean and twisted enough to try, if he ever heard I got away safe from Creed.”

“Somethin’ else,” Logan said, and sighed. “When we fought, I said I couldn’t play ‘round cuz I wasn’t gonna let ya lie there an’ bleed. He actually went limp, right under me while pinned by my claws. Never saw that before in my life; he dunno how t’ stop when we tussle. He asked me t’ help ya, nearly begged me t’. Told me t’ take tha Hummer an’ get ya help. I couldn’t figure that out. Then I saw what else he’d done t’ ya... Got so mad over that, I didn’t pay much more attention t’ tha bastard ‘sides crushin’ ‘is fuckin’ throat t’ make me feel better.”

Tabitha opened her eyes and looked straight ahead. “Marco found me a photo of Ellison, after I first came here; he was almost as tall as Creed. As dark as that plant building was … if he was wearing a coat, and I heard the claws on metal and heard the hissing… I guess his plan worked. The only thing I can’t figure out is – why would he go after me and frame Creed, why shoot him with an explosive projectile? I never met the man, and he was his client…”

“They coulda had a fallin’ out – he said those men weren’t ‘sposed t’ be there, right?”

“He did. He promised me the job was destruction of property, that no one was going to be killed. The place was supposed to be empty.”

“Maybe this Ellison wanted some people killed after all. They were key personel, owners, lab scientists – if tha goal was t’ destroy tha place, killin’ tha people that built an’ ran it fits.”

“Why would Creed have a falling out over not wanting to kill people? He loves it, it’s his thing.”

Logan was watching her. Reluctant to meet his gaze, she held her breath to look up at him. “He’d object if he didn’t wanna commit a deal breaker that woulda made ya angry with ‘im – if things were goin’ good an’ he didn’t wanna jeopardize that…”

“Did my ‘none of it is your fault’ pass expire?” She looked away and let go of his arm.

Logan shifted to face her. “Nope, didn’t expire – just tryin’ t’ understand. If he thinks yer ‘is, if he considers ya ‘is mate … he may never stop comin’ after ya. This thing,” he gestured at the wooden box, “is proof he didn’t turn on ya at tha plant, an’ he went t’ some effort t’ make sure ya got it an’ told ya t’ show it t’ me. He wants us both t’ know it wasn’t ‘im that carved ya up – at least not near tha end.” He sighed and lowered his head. “He also knew right where t’ find ya an’ even mentioned this house, knew I come t’ visit ya…” Lifting his head, he caught her eye again. “That means nobody here is safe, includin’ ya. Is there anythin’ yer not tellin’ me?”

“I didn’t contact him, Logan.”

“Not accusin’ ya o’ anythin’. Why’s he goin’ t’ so much trouble t’ prove he didn’t attack ya at tha plant? Didn’t kill tha men he ate?”

“I’m afraid to say anything else – what if it counts as secrets told, in his mind?”

“Did he say he wanted ya t’ be ‘is mate?”

Tabitha hated herself for tearing up. She dropped her gaze to stare down at her huge belly and nodded once as the tears fell.

“Awright… That’s between us. Now that ya know it wasn’t ‘im … do ya wanna … go back t’ ‘im?”

“No matter what I say … I’m afraid … you’ll hate me.”

She winced and then froze when he grabbed her and held her close. She fussed for a moment, and then collapsed into him and cried.

“Not gonna hate ya, girl … not even close. I know we ain’t never been tha best o’ pals, but far as I’m concerned, yer a part o’ my family. Told ya I know ‘bout ‘im, how he is – that means I also know it ain’t all murder an’ rape with ‘im. One o’ tha reasons I try t’ hope fer some chance o’ ‘im changin’ is sometimes I’ve seen ‘im reach fer more’n death an’ hurtin’ folks. Truth is, if he ain’t comin’ after me, I got no clue what he’s up t’ beyond knowin’ he’s still takin’ contracts as an assassin. When we worked t’gether, that was in tha 1960s, an’ he was probly worse then – more brutal. If he got t’ tha point o’ askin’ ya t’ be ‘is mate, whether cuz yer pregnant or some other reason … I dunno, maybe he can change, but fer people like Fiona – it’s too li’l, too late.”

“I know…” she whispered, sniffing. “I told you he was changed in Vancouver. I had no idea he could be … a lover… I’ve never had anything, I mean, Sam… Oh, God, I can’t say it – not to you…”

“I’ve heard it before, from people he didn’t try t’ rape or kill… Hush, darlin’, it’s okay…”

“I couldn’t think straight in the middle of that, in Vancouver. Sam and me imploded because he ignored me. I never would have started sneaking into the Danger Room to visit Creed if I wasn’t being pushed away or ignored at every turn. He paid attention, wanted to see me, and he was nice … then. As a … lover … he still kept ordering me around and … I was just going through the motions, trying to avoid making him angry. The things he did … I’ve never felt like that before. It clouded and confused everything…”

“Ya know he’s too changeable, too unpredictable, an’ he’s dangerous even in ‘is sleep.”

“Trust me, I know that.” She tried to calm her breathing. “I know I can’t, whether it was real or not when he was … nice... The fact is, I was at risk every moment and he was pretty clear how life would be, and I … can’t live that way. Then there’s Fiona… I just can’t.”

~ ~ ~

Tabitha tucked the jeweler’s box with the engagement ring into a zippered inner pocket of her purse. She wore the chain without asking herself why. Beyond letting her know it was adamantium, Logan didn’t comment on it, and she didn’t tell him about the ring.

On the day that Logan would have left, he didn’t. He did go into town for a meeting with the head of the cartel. While he was gone, she went out for her usual walk on the beach. At the end of the pier down from Mara’s house, she found the worn wooden planks covered in white rose buds again. Logan had told her that he had never caught a whiff of Victor’s scent in the area, so he had to have someone placing the flowers for him.

She sat on the end of the pier near sunset, surrounded by white rose buds and wrapped in the scarf Victor had given to her. Tears slipped down her cheeks as she picked up a rose and kissed the soft petals. Holding the flower against her huge belly, she watched the sky turn orange and red.

_How much of what you told me was true? Maybe all of it. The man I miss is real … but so is the man who mutilated Fiona, a girl very much like me. I guess we both knew that you wouldn’t change and I couldn’t bury my head in the sand forever. Do you expect me to just return and be yours, knowing it can’t really work? As soon as it didn’t work, you’ve certainly got the reputation for that ‘if I can’t have her, no one can’ sick psycho crap… And what about our baby?_

Tabitha held her belly, stroking it gently. The child needed to be with a family, with people who would love it and care for it. Mara and Logan were helping and they had three couples to choose from.

_Victor … you already know I plan to put junior up for adoption. Maybe you know who the potential couples are? What are you planning to do…?_

In the distance, along the shoreline, she heard Logan call out her name, a note of worry in his voice. She got up immediately, walked back to the sand and headed his way, toward home.

“I’m here, I’m okay,” she called back. When she met him, she let him hold her.

“Ya think I don’t understand, but I do,” he whispered. “If ya felt love, no matter what tha situation was or how ya were treated, I understand that, too. I know it can be an ugly, irrational kinda hurt – an’ still feel like love.”

“I did, and it is like that,” she spoke softly into his hair, her chin resting on his broad shoulder. “Logan … you maybe think I don’t understand the danger, that it’s a risk whether he could really care for me or not, but I do…”

“Sometimes, doin’ tha right thing is tha most painful an’ tha last thing ya wanna do.”

“Yes … and I know this has also been so hard on you. You’ve never told me why you seem so sad all the time, and I suspect it’s not just Fiona. After hearing how crazy things have been at the school, I’m surprised you left. Yet in the middle of it, you dropped everything to help me, and you never blamed me. Thank you…”

“Not t’ take away from yer personal charm, darlin’, but keepin’ ya safe has been keepin’ me sane.”

Tabitha smiled a little and held him closer. “I’ve never felt safer in my whole life.”

He broke the embrace first and held her chin in his fingers. “We’re gonna be okay.”

“We are.” Wrapping an arm around her belly, she added, “All of us.”

*****************************************************************

Victor stared at the black logo of an eagle in flight, one foot holding a swastika. The typed letter and signature, and the spidery handwritten note and nickname below it, made it one of the strangest bits of history to ever survive the war. Perrin stood beside him, holding open the door to the safe.

“I didn’t show it to her, but after she found it – I read it to her, when she asked. She was more upset by the photo and made the assumption that you were proud of what was done at Babi Yar.”

Staring at the signature, Victor growled. He folded the letter and handed it over. Perrin tucked it into the safe and locked it in.

“Things ain’t always what they seem, boy.”

“I know.”

Victor turned away and headed back down the hall to the stairs. Silent and patient, Perrin followed him into the bathroom. The divan had a large towel spread over it. Stripping with a sigh, Victor got down on his stomach and stretched out. When his hair was wrapped into a bun for him and tied there at the back of his head, he buried his face in folded arms. The divan and room smelled of lavender, probably something Brys had put into the steaming tub.

He ignored the sounds in the room and tried to relax when Perrin’s hands, oiled for a massage, touched the taut muscles of his shoulders and back. It took longer than usual before the boy turned him into putty in his hands, but he managed it.

Near the end, one hand cupping his ass, the boy asked, “Do you want more?”

Victor nodded once. The boy crossed the room. He heard metal clink on glass and then the hands returned.

“Lie on your side,” he whispered. With a grunt, Victor obeyed. One hand stroked up the back of his thigh, urging him to shift it up and over until his knee touched the towel. The boy straddled the straight leg at the foot of the divan and leaned forward over his hip.

Victor remained as still as he could as his cock was pulled down between his legs on the towel.

“Breathe deeply,” Perrin told him. On the first indrawn breath, a thick glass dildo pierced his tight anus. The fingers of the other hand gripped his cock and rubbed it hard in moments. “Breathe for me,” he repeated, and pushed the sharp point of the jeweled hat pin half of its length into the shaft near the head before he continued to jack it. “Let them out, but keep still.”

Breathing out and in deep again, he allowed the claws to tear free from his aching fingertips and toes, but held his body in place. When the pin was slid in deeper, the hand taking a firmer grip on his cock, Victor snarled to feel and smell the blood. He knew the large ruby was nestled against his frenulum, leaking red as if it was the gemstone that bled.

The hand on his shaft moved once to squeeze the head, deliberately letting the point of the pin on the opposite side of it pierce a fingertip. The scents mixed, making saliva drip down his long fangs.

His cock healed around the long pin over and over as it moved with the harder strokes of the hand. The glass toy worked his breathing out of sync until the boy’s soothing voice whispering encouragement trained it back to slow and deep breaths. The dildo was kept slow and steady, almost gentle, but never stopping, pulling out to punch back in.

“Harder,” he said, half growling it out.

“Victor… No. Be still. Feel…”

The low growl stuttered out as he drew in another breath. The sensations tangled in his head: muted pleasure inside his body, bright pain and pleasure at war in his cock. He never knew when it would happen and didn’t understand how the boy knew when he needed it to; the moment the pin was torn out and the glass was pushed deeper, the feelings turned into a purely white hot pleasure as his seed spouted free to soak the towel. He hadn’t noticed the hiss in his throat until it stopped.

Another towel covered the slightly pink pearly mess and then the glass dildo was pulled free. He shuddered and moaned at the feeling of the muscle tightening. The meat of the cock healed and grew soft as it was placed with near-reverence on the folded clean towel. His body wilted, the boneless sense of being completely relaxed and sated melting him where he lay.

The boy moved, set things aside, and then knelt by his face. The fingers, still silken from the light oil, stroked his furry jaw. “The bath is ready.”

Victor’s brow furrowed, a frown pulling at his mouth.

“What is it, Victor?”

“Don’t ever leave,” he murmured. His eyes opened to watch the boy’s reaction.

“I won’t. Do you want to know why?” Victor nodded and closed his eyes. “Because I belong to you.”

“Ya love Brys. Not so sure I’m cut out fer lovin’ anybody.”

“I do love him, intensely and endlessly – but without you, we’d both be dead. This is beyond love, Victor. I think … you are simply the focus of why I am alive. Pleasing you, protecting you – is what I am. A moth to your exquisite flame.”

Fingers stroked his brow gently, sparking the deep thrum of a purr. It was a while before he could move at all.

The bath was delicious when he finally got in it. Afterward, he had sat on the edge of the tub as the boy took towels and dried him off. They went to bed, and neither of them were surprised when he slept right away.

~ ~ ~

Before dawn, he woke from a nightmare, claws slashing into a pillow. The miasma of his fear choked him.

“Perrin?”

“I’m here,” the boy whispered. He was standing naked beside the bed, where he’d been taught to escape to years ago in these moments. “I’m not hurt.”

Victor reached out with hands as the claws retracted, and the boy took them in his and came back to him without hesitation. “Tha fuckin’ nightmares are gettin’ worse.”

When the boy settled beside him, Victor shifted to lay his head on his stomach. “Do you wish to tell me?”

“It was tha war, an’ … ‘im…”

The boy stroked the loose hair down his back, fingers playing with the curls. “Tell me how it happened.”

“He snatched me outta tha clutches o’ Mengele; I woulda done anythin’ t’ get away. Healin’ factor was kept weak cuz it never gotta chance t’ replentish an’ there was never much food. What I got, I couldn’t even eat – it made me sick. Some kinda grain gruel shit… I gave it t’ tha kids, tha twins, all those twins…”

“How did they catch you?” Perrin whispered.

“I was in Austria in 1939 an’ heard that anybody who looked ‘weird’ was disappearin’. There were all kinds o’ Jews tryin’ t’ immigrate out… I read later that 300,000 people were vyin’ t’ get tha 27,000 spots o’ tha immigration quota fer tha US. I couldn’t even risk tryin’ that. I tried t’ get t’ Russia t’ disappear in tha wilds out there; ran smack through Poland, in September – so that didn’t go so great. I was in Wieluń when tha Luftwaffe bombed it t’ rubble. A German officer saw me survive a direct hit from a buildin’ that fell on my head, an’ I woke up a prisoner, too damaged t’ do much ‘bout it. Cuz o’ tha healin’ factor, I was one o’ tha first ‘special pets’ o’ Mengele’s in tha brandy new Auschwitz camp. Ya can’t imagine…”

“Himmler was able to remove you without a fuss?”

“Bastard could pretty much do anythin’ by then, yeah. They didn’t get far messin’ with me, though. Sinister can’t clone me proper, neither, so … whatever. After they watched me survive their man-made traumas ‘nuff  an’ realized they couldn’t take that talent fer their troops, I gotta bow slapped on my head courtesy o’ Himmler an’ went t’ Heydrich, head o’ tha Gestapo before Müller. Himmler would send fer me though, here an’ there. Tha bosses changed, but that never did. I hunted, interrogated, an’ killed fer ‘em. Only thing that mattered t’ me then was bein’ on tha dry side o’ tha waterboardin’. When I was sent fer, it was always in some grand house stolen from people they’d packed int’ trains, like cattle.”

“It was … a physical thing … you told me that. It was not give and take at all – was it?”

“Didn’t wanna get sent back t’ Auschwitz.”

“You did what you had to.”

“Hated that man. Ain’t many I’ll admit t’ bein’ afraid o’, but that’s one o’ ‘em. Nobody that fuckin’ weak should get hold o’ that much power. At least with Sinister, I got put down by somebody stronger’n me. I kept killin’ what Himmler called ‘tha wrong people’, includin’ some o’ their buddies from Hydra, an’ he threatened t’ destroy me – mighta had tha means, too. So I learned t’ toe tha line.”

“Part of that line was … Babi Yar?”

“Yup. That photo – that was t’ prove t’ ‘Heini’ that tha line was bein’ toed.”

“I understand.”

“I told … Tabitha … that it was a romp, that we played an’ poked each other fer fun. Told ya similar, way before that.”

“Do you want to tell me the truth?”

“I obeyed. It didn’t go both ways by a long shot. Kept runnin’ int’ assholes that outranked me who thought I should be dead an’ what saved my ass was givin’ it t’ ‘im – an’ killin’ tha right people when he said so. I told ‘im things an’ then he used ‘em against me, like when he realized he could order me t’ play bitch an’ it would get me t’ obey better’n I was.”

“Victor … what you’re describing is what rape is. That man … raped and trapped you, controlled you to use your power for himself.”

The growl sharpened into a snarl as he lifted his head, but the boy wasn’t afraid. “I lost a challenge, all it was.”

“You told me I was never to lie to you, that I was to tell you things if I felt you should hear them. You need to hear that.” His hands petted and soothed, and Victor was lulled to lie down again. “You are so strong, so powerful – and you were so young when your pain began. I know that it is hard for you to understand.”

“Don’t need no morality lecture.”

“You know me better than that. He used fear and a show of force, broke you down somehow and then molded you to be dependent on him – create a need and then fill it – is that how he controlled you?”

Victor growled, only stopping when gentle fingers rubbed the point of his ear. “Without ‘is favor, tha whole fuckin’ Nazi machine woulda come down on my head. Sometimes he rewarded me, other times there were … public punishments … if I really fucked up. He’d order it done, let people that hated me do it, an’ then he’d be my solace… I knew it, but it was better’n than tha camps, tha gas…”

“No chance of escape, because they were always watching and as they conquered Europe piece by piece, there was nowhere to run.”

“Yeah… In tha early 1940s it felt like they’d crush tha whole world under their boots. No other war was like it. Tha SD was watchin’ me an’ tha Gestapo was too – I worked with ‘em, but they never wanted me there. Himmler’s orders kept me outta tha gas chamber, but he never got my loyalty.”

“Tell me how it ended?”

“Study’s got tha books. When it all fell apart, May 1945, I got tha fuck out an’ split fer Romania, ended up in Istanbul fer a while. Only thing that got me through what was left o’ tha Nazi forces was that letter. Once I was outta Germany, I holed up at daytime an’ traveled by night – killed anybody who got a decent look at me. I was a feared soldier in World War I, Korea, an’ Vietnam. They never liked me, but they didn’t fuck with me, neither. Tha Nazis were diff’rent. Anybody under me was shakin’ in their boots, but over me? Those pricks were so sure o’ their grand destiny, they woulda marched over death when it came t’ get ‘em – or so they thought.”

“Himmler is dead. All of those men are dead. You’re still here.”

“So I keep tellin’ myself – ‘til tha chinless sonovabitch walks int’ my head, awake or asleep, an’ turns me inside out.” Victor lifted his head again. “Coulda hurt ya…”

“You didn’t. Sleep Victor. I’ll watch over you.”

“She ain’t comin’ back t’ me. She’s in their clutches now, bein’ told it was twisted, what we had...”

“She may return. The least she could do is speak to you.”

“Coupla times, she tried t’ tell me how she saw things; I didn’t wanna listen. She said I wouldn’t wanna live under somebody’s thumb ... an’ she was right. I know what yer doin’, tryin’ t’ get me t’ see it. I was ... holdin’ on so hard, didn’t see it...”

“Didn’t see what?”

Victor settled, but a low growl thrummed through him. “Saint Xavier used t’ tell me one o’ tha greatest traps ya can fall int’ was tha one I was careenin’ right fer… Guess tha holier-than-thou shit-stain was right after all ‘bout that. Ain’t that what yer really tryin’ t’ get me t’ see?”

“Victor … what trap?”

“Becomin’ what ya hate…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Major Arnold Toht was the Gestapo character from the Indiana Jones movie, “Raiders of the Lost Ark.” “Lion King” still belongs to Disney. I’ve edited Victor’s Hummers from H2 to H1, as the H2 doesn’t seem to have existed in 2002. The Spanish: “Hola” means “hello”, “En Español, mi amiga” means “in Spanish, my friend”, and “Vamos” means “Let’s go”, according to online research.
> 
> Himmler, Heydrich, Mengele, and Müller were all real World War II Nazis. The “SD” were the Nazi’s system of spies, while the Gestapo were the secret state police, and both were among the most feared and evil groups humans have ever devised. As I’ve noted before, canon comics often flirts with the idea that Sabretooth was working for the Nazis, but I haven’t found many concrete or unchanging details on where, when, or in what capacity. In my opinion, despite being blonde and blue-eyed at the time, Victor’s feral mutation would have landed him in a gas chamber, but his healing factor probably would get him experimented on. I’m bending history to have Himmler engaging in male-on-male rape, but he was obsessed with the Occult, and it would be plausible that Sabretooth would fascinate him because of that.
> 
> I’ve enjoyed immensely tossing Logan into this story more; I hope you have, too. It may be obvious that I’ve fallen for Perrin. There may be a Victor/Perrin story in the series eventually. Réquan was invented on the spot, and I like him a lot, too. There should be only one chapter to go on this story. It is technically part two of the series, with my tribute rewrite of “Mary Shelley Overdrive” slated to be part one. There are many other Victor fics plotted for the series, and some are already written and waiting on this one, due to spoilers.
> 
> As always, thanks to everyone for reading, please do review, I love to hear from you. My stories will all eventually be on my blog (www.mindseyetheatre.net), and I can respond to comments/reviews here, on the blog, via email, or via @MET_Fic – AnonGrimm


	15. Epilogue: No Absolution

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have added a new funny part in the previous Chapter 14, in the form of another phone call between Victor and Tony Stark. It shows up right before he takes the snow leopard to the jet for the trip to Nepal. It also helps set up the next story in the series. Warning: Please be aware that this chapter contains some brutal child abuse in the form of a nightmare. It may be very triggering to some readers. Thanks for reading. (@MET_Fic) – AnonGrimm

It’s like an intuition or a feeling in the air  
An intangible impression that’s always everywhere

You bit into the apple, laid down your sword an shield  
(Untie! A little bit dies, a little each time, the medicine smiles)  
Then spun ‘round like a gyre in the unified field!  
(Inside, your elegant guide, an arrow in flight a million miles)

I remember feeling the opposite of falling  
(Into that spot where we untie every knot)  
Spinning past the ceiling, absolution calling...  
“Are you there, or not?”

It’s an open invitation, come see the sights of sages  
We’ve been a pride of lions so afraid to leave our cages  
Don’t fret over the pieces that smolder in the sun  
(Untie! A little bit dies, a little each time, the medicine smiles)  
‘Cause nothing can be broken when everything is one  
(Inside, your elegant guide, an arrow in flight a million miles)

I remember feeling the opposite of falling  
(Into that spot where we untie every knot)  
Spinning past the ceiling, absolution calling...  
“Are you there, or not?”

~ Absolution Calling (Incubus)

*****************************************************************

“I don’t know why they would back out,” Mara protested. “The wife is a mutant, but they can’t have children. They wanted this baby very much.”

Tabitha shot a grim look at Logan. “This is the second of three couples, and they refuse to say why.”

Logan frowned, got up from the kitchen chair, and headed for the door, abandoning his coffee cup. “Let’s take a stroll, darlin’.”

She hugged Mara before she followed him out onto the porch. “How about a sit, instead? Junior’s getting pretty heavy…”

He nodded and offered a hand to steady her when she sat on the edge of the porch with her belly against the raised railing. He settled next to her with a sigh. Watching him set his hands flat on his thighs as he often did in the throes of quiet frustration, Tabitha held her belly and pushed her bare feet into the warm sand.

“Ya know it’s ‘im.”

“I know,” she muttered. “We’re lucky he hasn’t killed them outright, I suppose.”

Logan bit off a growl. “If he wants ya back, both o’ ya, he probly knows killin’ would cross tha line.”

“He should have figured that out when he ran into Fiona, then.” She watched the sand fall through her toes and slumped where she sat. “All he has to do is wait until the adoption is over and then swoop in and steal the baby when we’re out of the picture. You can’t sit on the adopting couple until the kid goes off to college.”

“We could go back t’ Westchester. He’d find babysnatchin’ a bigger challenge in that crowd.”

“Oh, yeah, that’s what I want to do, juggle X-Force missions with single motherhood, while putting everyone in danger and getting stared at and muttered about for being the Girl Who Screwed Sabretooth.”

“It ain’t like that; tha bastard tortured an’ raped ya. They don’t gotta know shit anyhow, an’ if any-fuckin’-body gives ya trouble or so much as sneers at ya, they’ll have me t’ answer t’.”

“Until you aren’t there…” Sighing, she leaned her head on his shoulder. “You don’t want to go back there; you were trying to get away from all that. When do you get out of jail free, anyway – babysitting me isn’t your job. It shouldn’t have to be. Hell, you didn’t knock me up, you shouldn’t have to be stuck cleaning up my mess.”

“Wish ya wouldn’t do that,” he muttered, frowning.

“Do what?”

“Tear yerself down, act like it’s yer fault…”

“You first, tough guy.” She lifted her head to smile and wink at him when he glanced at her, and got a grudging snort. “You beat yourself up all the time, ‘bub’.”

“Gotta better idea, then?”

“Sure – we go off into the wilderness, somewhere with wifi, and live in a cave. You hunt, I’ll knit baby blankets, and you can raise junior as your very own.” Tabitha didn’t miss the curl of his upper lip even though he was getting faster at wiping it off. She caught his eye and smiled sadly at him. “No more apologizing for having a hard time coping with the whole ‘spawn of my mortal enemy’ instinct.”

“Ain’t tha kid’s fault or yers – can’t tell instinct that.”

“I know, it’s okay.” She slipped an arm around his and cuddled into it. “Maybe I wanted to give the baby up to strangers so I could go back to whatever is left of my life and pretend to forget about it all. Could I though? What if I turn out to be one of those mothers who just can’t give the kid up? Maybe I’ll fall hopelessly in love with junior and the single mom thing won’t seem so terrifying…”

“Could happen.”

“You’d be off the hook if I went back to Xavier’s, though. I can operate my middle fingers in the direction of judgemental assholes on my own.” She pushed against him playfully and won a smile.

“I got faith in ya fer that, but I doubt ya’d hafta use it much. That’s a pretty tolerant bunch.”

“Unless you’re Sabretooth … or his child?” She sighed. “He hates Professor Xavier pretty intensely; that’s not a secret.”

“Chuck … didn’t treat tha man very well. That’s been a bitter pill t’ swallow, since ‘is methods helped me so much, but I’ve never minded pointin’ out ‘is mistakes, an’ I’ve had t’ face facts – Hank is right. Chuck didn’t help Creed with all that mind-probe shit; he made ‘im worse, or gave ‘im real reasons t’ hate anythin’ wearin’ an X. We didn’t need that – ya sure as shit didn’t need that.”

“Wow. Beast said it backfired, too?”

“He made a case an’ I saw ‘is point – I’d asked Chuck t’ help me an’ we worked t’gether on it. Creed was forced. He was also kept caged an’ restrained tha whole time.”

“For obvious reasons…”

“Yeah, but that never makes a feral willin’ t’ try new things. If Chuck had tossed me in a metal gunnysack an’ forced ‘is way int’ my deep dark corners without askin’, I’d wind up wantin’ t’ bleed ‘im myself.”

“Wow, squared.”

“Don’t run off after any more urchins down blind alleys just t’ let ‘im know, but if ya ever send Creed a postcard, feel free t’ pass that tidbit along. Might not make a diff’rence, but still…”

“You said you used to hope he could change – do you still think it’s possible?”

“He has changed, from everythin’ I’ve managed t’ piece t’gether from what li’l ya did tell me. Do I think he could trade in a black hat fer a white one? Not gonna hold my breath, darlin’. Gotta start somewhere, though, right?”

“Right.” She laid her head back down on his shoulder. “I’m kind of nervous about the birth. The father is a six foot six feral tank – I am so doomed to have an ugly C-section scar, and I hate one-piece bathing suits.”

“Those scars can be fixed – maybe tha rest o’ ‘em too, if ya wanted.”

Tabitha closed her eyes, trying hard not to cry. The thought of giving birth to such a large baby was terrifying.

“If ya want me in there with ya when it’s time, say tha word, darlin’.”

The tears fell at his quiet words. “Yes… Please be there with me. I’m so scared, Logan.”

He turned and held her as she cried. “Yer one helluva brave gal, Tabitha – tough, too. Yer gonna be fine.”

~ ~ ~

Tabitha knew it was a bad idea, but she couldn’t stop herself. Everyone had gone to bed –  Mara in the big bedroom, and Logan on the couch.

Pulling her Prada purse out from under her bed, she fished around in it for her Nokia phone. There were a dozen missed calls with dates ranging all through her pregnancy – all but one of them were from Victor. The single voicemail was from the number he had added for Brys, and it had been left just days ago.

_You cannot listen to that, Logan will hear it._

Loneliness and longing washed over her. Frowning, she put the phone back and pushed the purse safely under the bed. Getting up, she drew her robe on over her nightgown and went as quietly as she could to the living room. Moving to where she could watch Logan sleep, she leaned against a wall and studied him, knowing he would sense her and wake.

The muscles, sideburns, and wild feral appearance, even without the prominent fangs, made her miss Victor terribly.

 _Why didn’t he leave any messages? If I had picked up, what would he have said? Some of those calls were from before he showed up in that alley._  Logan was shirtless; she hoped he wasn’t pantsless under the blanket.  _Probably not, although the jogging pants as jammies don’t hide much._  She frowned and picked at the chipped nail polish on her thumb.

“Need somethin’, darlin’?”

Looking up, she saw him propped on one elbow, those jeweled blue eyes watching her. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you.”

He arched an eyebrow at her. “Sure ya did, or ya wouldn’t be standin’ there. What’s up?”

“I ... don’t want to do anything stupid.”

“Happy t’ hear it.”

“I want to tell you something he’d consider a secret – it has to stay between us and you cannot look at my phone. Deal?”

“Lemme guess – ya gotta way t’ reach Creed on it, an’ he’s been callin’ ya.”

“Um, deal?”

“Deal.”

“How did you know?”

“Ya meant it when ya promised ya wouldn’t contact ‘im, an’ a young pregnant woman in ‘er early twenties ignorin’ ‘er phone fer ‘bout nine months is nearly a physical impossibility. I was tempted t’ call it in as a Guinness World Record. Figured ya had t’ have a good reason.”

“Ha ha.” She sighed and looked at him wistfully, feeling nervous to admit it. “I miss him, the nice version... God, how insane and sick am I?”

Logan sat up. “Ain’t neither. Creed is tha crazy fucker. Ya can’t abuse somebody every which way but loose an’ then decide ya changed yer mind an’ now ya wanna court ‘em t’ be yer mate after gettin’ ‘em preg by rape. That guy is full-tilt animal crackers an’ he probly don’t even know why yer runnin’ scared an’ stickin’ under my wing. Hell, I wouldn’t be surprised if he thinks we’re screwin’.”

“That’s the other thing...”

Logan frowned, the eyes narrowing. “Tabitha, ya know that’s gonna be a no.”

“Yes, and I wouldn’t ask, or try, I promise – okay? Ready for the but?”

“Shoot.”

“See, that right there – you sound, talk, and look so much like him; I’m sorry, but you do. It’s got to be as much of a picnic for you having to smell him on me as it is for me to be reminded of him every time you talk, growl, or move an inch in any direction.”

“Yeah, so what’s tha point, here?”

“This is nervewracking, so I’m going to beat around the bush. Okay – I know heightened senses can be hell, but I can’t help what you pick up from me. I know I can’t get as cuddly as my fear would like to, because you can’t help a reaction it might cause. Here’s the thing: I woke you up because I couldn’t help checking my phone and the temptation to call and ask him what will make him stop and leave me be was almost too much. I didn’t want to break my promise or make things worse, but ... I fucking miss him, and I’m sorry but I need to be held so I can sleep and so I can’t touch the phone again. I swear I wouldn’t do anything...”

Logan was quiet, his face blank and utterly unreadable as he watched her.

She folded her arms over the top of her belly and frowned at him. “Dude, you have the most ironclad poker face I’ve ever seen, and that is not a compliment.”

Without a word, he laid back down and shifted closer to the back of the couch, lifting the light blanket in invitation.

 _Thank God for jogging pants…_  Tabitha moved and laid down in the robe, sighing in gratitude when he pulled her in and held her close in his arms. She put her head on his arm against his chest.

“One question?” he asked, tucking his chin over her curls.

“Sure.”

“Does he snore?”

“Not one bit.”

Logan snorted. “Neat trick – wonder how he manages that. I snore like a buzzsaw, fair warnin’.”

“Trust me, I know that. Your hospital couch would’ve had to be moved two blocks down for me to not hear Hurricane Logan. It’s okay. I need this. Thank you.”

“Try t’ sleep, darlin’.”

~ ~ ~

Tabitha attempted to relax in the hammock on the porch the next morning and thought about options. Logan was swimming, in long trunks, but she was working on pretending he didn’t exist – at least while he was half-dressed.

 _Why did I think being pregnant would cancel out horny? I wonder what Victor is doing..._  She sighed. I  _wonder who Victor is doing – Mr. A Girl in Every Port … or boy... Is it even possible he could miss me, or does he just want his ‘cub’?_

Biting her lip, she closed her eyes. She wanted to get her rose buds shawl, but she didn’t like to wear it around Logan. The adamantium chain was bad enough, and she wouldn’t be surprised if he knew about the diamond ring.

 _Victor told me he missed me in that alley. He bought an engagement ring... If Ellison hadn’t fucked it all up ... would I be married to Victor now?_ She happened to look up right when Logan was walking out of the surf.  _Damn feral muscle boys… He only appears to be hairier, though – Victor’s blonde fur is harder to see in some lights._

The image of Victor’s body hung in her thoughts. Raw heavy power shouldn’t be so lithe and graceful, but he was. The fact that such a damaged mind capable of horrifying cruelty controlled that body didn’t make it any less beautiful.

She’d been too embarrassed to try to find any personal toys, and she was getting tired of her own fingers. Her memories of Victor’s tongue and cock ran away with her and by the time Logan fetched his towel from the porch railing, he was doing that ‘trying not to notice’ thing. Rather than drying off, he wrapped it around his waist.

 _Totally unnessary with the trunks on, and sure enough – there it goes again._ She was the only one who blushed, as usual.  _Even if we did something, I’d be imagining huge fangs and blonde hair. It isn’t Logan I want, whether he’d be a saner choice, or not. He’d likely be imagining a redhead with green eyes. That has to be why he seems so gutshot half the time. I guess Victor was right about them..._ “Sorry,” she muttered.

“No more ‘pologizin’ fer havin’ a hard time copin’ with basic urges ya can’t help.”

Tabitha smiled, grateful for his understanding. She swayed in the hammock before she got her feet on the wooden porch. Logan moved to help her and gave her a hand to sit at the railing again. “Thanks. Toes in the sand is my thing.”

“It don’t suck,” he agreed, and didn’t comment on her sigh over his speech habits as she sat with her legs between the rails and toes in the warm sand.

“It must be really obnoxious having to deal with the feral libido anytime a scent wafts your way.”

He sat on the porch near her facing the other way, leaned his back against the railing, and crossed his ankles with hands on his thighs. “Can be.”

“How do you control it? I mean, you don’t act on it. Creed never let one of those go to waste that I ever saw, regardless of the consent factor involved.”

“I’m very zen.” He chuckled at her expression. “Mean that literally, not blowin’ ya off. Learned a lot o’ meditation techniques in Japan – mind over matter is a real thing, if ya work at it.”

“I’m not zen, I’m just horny, and for the record, it’s not fair. Junior should be distracting me out of that. It’s also pretty embarrassing on so many levels that you always know.”

Logan shrugged. “It’s natural, darlin’ – nothin’ t’ be ashamed o’.”

“Even though you know I’m thinking about him?”

“I’m tha last man who’s gonna judge anybody ‘bout how moral their choice o’ fantasy partner might be.”

“What was he like in the 1960s? When he was a CIA agent and not a hired killer?”

“Brutal an’ mean, told ya that before. We were hired killers, though – only diff’rence was who was payin’ tha bills. He got ‘is jollies rippin’ folks t’ death an’ if we didn’t watch ‘im, he’d rape a female target, or a male target’s wife, pretty much fer fun. I stuck my share o’ guns in ‘is face t’ convince ‘im not t’ ‘play’ on tha missions.”

“Play?”

“That’s what he called it. Used t’ tell me I was a pussy fer not wantin’ t’ do it.”

Tabitha winced and gripped the rails as she leaned her forehead on the one between her hands. “He seemed so different in Vancouver. I heard him laugh – not that cruel, evil laugh – and he was … self-conscious, about how he looks, the eyes, the fangs… He acted proud often enough, seemed very vain...”

“‘God’s gift t’ bilge rats’ is what tha team used t’ call ‘im – if he wasn’t ‘round t’ hear ‘em.”

“Oh, I know he could be awful, trust me, but he was sad sometimes too, and I knew that he didn’t … like himself very much.”

“Odds are darlin’, ya mighta seen a side o’ Vic nobody else has.”

“You call him ‘Vic’?”

“Old habit.”

“Did you ever get along?”

“Not really. We were brainwashed t’ play nice back then, but it barely kept us from each other’s throats. He’s a loner too much fer workin’ with a team. I got tha advantage o’ pack mentality fer that. Two alpha ferals like us don’t fit on tha same porch. There were a handful o’ stellar bar fights that might could stand in as good times.”

“Well, if we end up having a fight, I hope it won’t be ‘stellar’. I’ve been doing more thinking about options than fantazing, believe it or not. I have a possible solution, but I bet you aren’t going to like it.”

“Ya wanna give ‘im tha baby.”

“How do you do that?”

“Yer right, I don’t like it.”

“I can’t risk him killing the adoption parents to take his kid.”

“It’s yer kid, too.”

“He told me more than once that he wanted the child and obviously, he meant it – Marco called and said the last couple is having second thoughts. I don’t want to risk others like that, not strangers or our friends.”

“Does he strike ya as a good father? I doubt anyone wants Creed t’ teach tha kid all he knows. What’s he gonna do, bring a car seat along when he travels t’ kill people?”

“He wouldn’t be the only one doing the raising; I bet I know who would, and … they’re good people.”

“This is ‘ya can’t tell me squat’ territory, huh?”

“Yes, it is. Whether he pays much attention or not, they will, and I trust them to raise our baby. They can teach the kid good stuff and love him. Also, I want to go back to Vancouver for the birth, to Lion’s Gate again. Junior needs to be a Canadian.”

Logan growled, and for once he didn’t check himself and stop it for her sake. “Ya expect me t’ guard ya this long an’ then just walk away when ya go off t’ face tha bastard?”

“We can’t risk him thinking I told you secrets. He won’t hurt me; I know he won’t.” She turned her head to look at him. “If he has what he wants… It might be the only way to get him to let me go.”

“Tell me yer not thinkin’ o’ goin’ back t’ that sick freak tha minute I leave. Ya been missin’ ‘im a lot – an’ ya know Sam ain’t waitin’.”

“I don’t want Sam back. I want to tell you why I’m not going to stay with Victor – it goes beyond Fiona.” When he didn’t respond, she continued in a soft, sad whisper, “At the plant, before Ellison, we split up to handle different areas. When he came back to me in the process building, he was keyed up on adrenaline, high as a kite with it. He wanted … sex. I guess he forgot that I can’t get that rough and he … hurt me. At the time, I was afraid he was betraying me, that maybe he had pretended to care for me. Now that I know all the crap Ellison did … I know Victor didn’t realize he was hurting me. He isn’t mentally stable and it’s like the danger of trying to share a bed – he’s just … like that. He hasn’t got a monogamous bone in his body, but all of mine are, and I couldn’t cope with being ordered around, or being alone – knowing he was off screwing someone else, or worse… What could I do? Try not to imagine if he’d been raping and eating people, right before finally returning to me? I can’t live that way. Even if he was sane, and not, well … evil… I couldn’t do it. I don’t want to be with someone if I can’t trust that I’m safe with him, or trust him at all.”

“How can ya be sure he won’t just kill ya when he realizes ya ain’t gonna be ‘is?”

“I can’t explain that.” She winced when he snarled and got up.

“If we’re goin’ t’ Vancouver fer tha birth, we better fly. How attached are ya t’ yer truck?”

“I love my truck to bits.” Tabitha looked up as he twisted the towel around his shoulders. “Marco could drive it somewhere for me, maybe Los Angeles.”

“Anywhere but Westchester, huh?”

Tabitha didn’t want to be angry, but then she abruptly was. She glared up at him. “Am I your excuse? Are you just burning to go back? I bet Jean’s still there … and still alone.”

He glared down at her and the ~snikt~ of claws on one hand made her guts clench. The metal glinted in the morning sunshine, lethal and frightening, but she understood the impulse and the instinct. Tears threatened as both her anger and her fear were pierced by the pain in his eyes.

“Logan, I know … of course I know. Something happened and whatever it was, it’s over, and I’m so sorry… I’m sick of crying, but I’m grateful I can. I’ve cried over Victor and the people he’s hurt, and … I’ve cried for you. I interrupted your life with this and your choice to guard me has meant the world to me, but when this is over, I can’t go back there. Maybe I will some day, I don’t know – being here has made me miss the hectic life I had, to my surprise. I certainly don’t want to be the one who drags you back there. We both need a break, don’t we?”

He turned away from her and his shoulders sagged as the claws retracted with a sharp ~snakt~. “If I go along with this mad plan o’ yers, ya gotta meet me after, so I know yer alive.”

“Okay,” she whispered. “I will.”

“I’ll come back here when ya go off t’ play stork fer that monster, drive yer truck out t’ Los Angeles myself. Ya want it back, ya show up. Hail a telepath, they can tell me when t’ get ya at LAX.”

“No problem.” She scooted back and slipped her legs out from under the railing to turn. Lifting her hands to him, she asked, “Would you help me up?”

He faced her and gently lifted her to her feet. “If he kills ya, I’m gonna hunt down yer trail an’ make ‘im pay fer it.”

“He won’t hurt me.” When he let her hands go immediately and didn’t try to hold her, she wiped at her eyes. “I shouldn’t have brought her up; I’m sorry, Logan.”

The poker face was back as he studied her in silence for a moment. It broke with his sigh. “If I had a brain, I never woulda let anythin’ happen. Havin’ what ya want can cut ya worse than not havin’ it, cuz when it’s gone…”

Tabitha nodded, her tears spilling. “Then you know what you’ve lost, and it hurts even if you understand that you never should have… The need is still there. Does it ever stop?”

He finally stepped close and held her. “I dunno, darlin’… If I could pick an’ choose tha memories that were carved outta me…”

She laid her head on his chest and let him stroke her curls. “Me, too…”

~ ~ ~

Mara cried more than Tabitha did when they were packed and Marco was ready to drive them to the airport. When his Jeep pulled out, she turned in the backseat to watch the little house get small behind them.

She had tried not to think about the number of weeks – creeping up on thirty-six – but she’d been cleared to fly by her doctor in Mexico, who had already spoken to her new doctor in Vancouver.

“Did you talk to Anne?” she asked Logan.

“It’s all set,” he answered, and she didn’t press him for more details.

_It feels wrong to not tell Mara and Marco our new plan, but I’d be lying if tried to say I’m not grateful to follow Logan’s lead on this stuff. None of these people here are fans of Victor, and I couldn’t cope with looking in their eyes and seeing hurt, anger … betrayal… Seeing it in Logan is bad enough. He said we’re leaving because Victor found me, and that’s at least part of the truth. I’m going to miss this place and these people…_

~ ~ ~

At forty-one weeks, she was resting in the guest bedroom of Anne’s house after the nurse assured her that for a first pregnancy, it wouldn’t be unusual if she didn’t go into labor for another week.

“Anne?” Tabitha asked, and the woman paused in the doorway. “What I said last night…”

“It’s okay,” Anne answered, “I’m working on not falling for him. It’s just slightly harder than giving up smoking was in college at mid-terms.”

Tabitha smiled when she did. “I feel you, girl.”

When Logan came in at bedtime, he would lie down beside her and hold her until she fell asleep. Most nights, she wasn’t aware of it when he got up to go to Anne’s bedroom. Sometimes, he’d be back in her room when she woke, usually in the armchair.

Almost at the end of forty-two weeks, Anne and Logan both insisted on admitting her to Lion’s Gate. Dr. Kairavi Nehru turned out to be wonderful and Tabitha trusted her almost at once. She also explained how they would be prepared if a caesarean section became necessary, but as Tabitha was in excellent health, it may not be needed at all.

Her first signs of labor turned out to be a trial run the doctor called Braxton Hicks, or false labor contractions, and she had started what was called ‘lightening’, when the baby starts to move downward to prepare for the birth.

“I like her,” she told Logan, smiling at him where he sat in the armchair near her bed. She had just had what seemed like her hundredth trip to the bathroom. “All that ‘the pelvis is meant to stretch’ sounds great.”

“Didn’t do much readin’ up on it, huh? Anne had books.”

“I’m not a big reader and ignorance can be bliss. I also like the fact that Dr. Nehru doesn’t mind you being in the delivery room with me.” Taking a deep breath and letting it out slow, she asked, “Are you going to have Storm come get you?”

“Probly. I’ll ask Chuck t’ make sure it’s ‘er, have ‘er take me back t’ yer truck an’ my scoot. Ya got yer hotel reservation by tha airport. Somebody’s comin’ there t’ pick ya up?”

“That’s the plan, but I haven’t called them yet. I’ll wait until I get to the hotel.”

“Is it gonna be Creed?”

“No, it won’t. He may not even be … where I’m going. He may be on the other side of the world. I’ll ask. Then I’ll be back here and fly to LAX to meet you.”

Logan sank low in the chair and leaned his head back, closing his eyes. “If ya ain’t there by two weeks, I’m givin’ yer truck t’ charity.”

“I’ll be there,” she whispered. He sat up with a sniff and stared at her, but before she could ask what was wrong, she knew. “Oh, shit… Logan? I don’t think I’m ready…”

He rose, called for the nurse and took her hand in his. “Yer gonna be fine, darlin’. I’ll be with ya tha whole time. It’s just gettin’ started.”

Soon enough, she found out what real contractions were like. “They remember I want an epidural, right?”

“Yeah, they know. Ya can have that when yer four t’ five centimeters dilated with regular contractions.”

“How do you know that?”

He gave her a wink. “I did read Anne’s books.”

~ ~ ~

Tabitha would have called her ten hour delivery a nightmare, but Dr. Nehru kept telling her that she was doing fine and it was going well. During a rest, she did wish she could snap a photo of Logan in hospital scrubs, mask, and elastic hat – Jubilee would have died. When it became clear that she could have a vaginal birth, she was so relieved she started to cry harder than she already was.

She wasn’t sure how she would have coped without Logan as her pushing coach, and it was hard to believe it was over when it finally was. By the time she let go of his hand, he was probably glad for his healing factor.

Dr. Nehru’s voice was all smiles behind her mask. “You have a beautiful baby boy, Tabitha.”

Logan quietly explained what they were doing as they did it, but it was hard to focus on what he said. Shots, Apgar test, eye drops, but all she could hear was her son when he cried for the first time. She found her tongue when she was asked about circumcision.

“Definitely not, he needs all of his parts. Logan, tell them…”

“No snippin’,” he announced, half growl and half order.

Just before they let her hold him, she took a deep breath. When the bundle was laid in her arms swaddled in a white blanket, she knew she wouldn’t see a baby with fangs – it was too soon to know if he was a mutant or not. She had closed her eyes, and when she opened them, she saw a perfect mini person.

“Hi,” she whispered. “I guess you really are a junior, huh?” For one breathless moment, the intensity of the wish that it was Victor beside her made her heart ache. Swallowing hard once, she glanced at Logan and managed a tired smile. “Look what I made,” she told him and then started to cry again.

~ ~ ~

“Well, kid, you have one advantage over your pa already – you know you’re a Leo. You’re also nine pounds, 21 inches, and you managed to tear your way out, so … like father, like son.”

Her audience of one was busy making use of the ridiculous things her breasts had turned into. He was beautiful and perfect, though, and she couldn’t blame him for messing up her figure, or for the very real tear he’d made during the birth.

The nurse was psychic, always coming in when her son was done nursing. This time, she had Logan in tow.

“Do you … want to hold him?” Tabitha asked, not sure what reply she wanted to hear.

Logan glanced at the nurse. “Would ya give us a few? ‘Preciate it.” Turning back to her, he sighed. “Not a good idea, havin’ my scent on ‘im.”

“Yeah, I guess.”

“Anne’s ready fer us. She got what she called ‘tha necessities’ with yer cash, but I was afraid t’ ask.”

“I have to recouperate there a whole week?”

“Ya need it. If ya feel like fussin’ ‘bout it, hand ‘im over t’ tha nurse an’ go fer ‘nother piss.”

“No, thanks. I’d rather wait until I’m about to burst. Let me tell you, tough guy, you can claim to be more badass than me when you pop one of these out. I have to pour water on my junk when I pee until the tear heals. Not fun.”

“I rest my case.” He waved the nurse in before she exploded outside the door. Both of them watched her leave with the baby. “‘Sides, Anne offered ya free babysittin’, so ya better jump on that.”

Tabitha settled lower in the raised bed and sighed. “I have a birth certificate dilemma. I have no idea what to name him. Any ideas, Mr. Fount of Weird Knowledge?”

“Ain’t gotta decide now. Ya got thirty days t’ finish tha paperwork; it’s just a bit less hassle if ya get it done before ya leave here. Ya don’t gotta worry ‘bout fees, fer damn sure. Get t’ tha Vital Statistics office before tha deadline t’ finish filin’ out tha papers an’ sign.”

She smiled. “Did you just know that, or did Anne tell you?”

“Yer doc told me. ” He sat on the armchair by her bed but only perched on the edge of it. “I gotta guess on why ya can’t decide.”

Tabitha stared up at the ceiling. “Why?”

“Ya wanna know what Creed would want t’ name ‘im.” When she didn’t respond, he added, “These people, whoever’s gonna pick ya up, do they even know yet that ya decided t’ do this?”

“Not yet. I haven’t wanted to contact anyone…”

“With me ‘round t’ hear?”

“Yeah…”

He nodded and rose. “Anne is free fer lunch an’ agreeable t’ fetch somethin’ an’ sit at tha picnic table across tha way in tha grass. So … I ‘spose I gotta date.” Without commenting on it, he grabbed her purse from the top drawer of her dresser and set it beside her on the bed. “There’s decent traffic noise out there. Do what ya gotta do.”

The butterflies started as she watched him leave and shut the door behind him. The phone was in her hands before she noticed they were shaking. Going straight to voicemail messages, she checked the one Brys had left her first. Her eyes teared up the moment she heard his kind voice: ‘Miss Smith – er … Tabitha… Hello. As you can imagine, I’m calling with permission. I hope you got Mr. Creed’s message and gift, and if it was received well, or if you have any questions, perhaps you might return my call? Thank you. It’s Brys…’

Finding the number and mustering the guts to call, she bit her lip as the phone rang. Her heartbeat kicked up faster. She was holding her breath when it was picked up and at his hello, she blurted, “Brys, hi… I need to see you; can you come to Vancouver International Airport in about a week and get me, in anything other than a helicopter? I have something very important to discuss.”

~ ~ ~

There was a new strain between her and Logan, and while she understood why, it still made her sad. He was as unfailingly kind to her as he’d been since first rescuing her, but the difference was clear: his efforts to respect her choices wouldn’t let him express what he was really thinking or feeling. Yet if the poker face was down, it wasn’t hard to see the anger and helpless worry for her darkening his eyes.

She didn’t mention Victor or leaving, and they continued to call her son ‘junior’. Tabitha concentrated on healing and recovering her strength, and getting first-rate baby care lessons from a delighted Anne.

As they sat on the couch, Tabitha held junior as he nursed. She was breastfeeding without even questioning the choice, but Anne had assured her it was good for the baby.  _What else was I going to do with the milk jugs?_  She hadn’t admitted it aloud to anyone, but she knew Victor would have expected it if he were there.  _It felt so good to talk to Brys, but sort of spooky, too – Victor could have been right there._  She hadn’t said what she wanted to discuss, but anybody could do the gestation math.  _Victor has to know junior is born now. Am I ready to face this?_

Logan was out in the backyard with his cigar. She could see the top of the worn brown cowboy hat through the corner of a window, at an angle that meant he had it pulled low over his face.

“I love you for taking your vacation just to help us,” Tabitha told the nurse, “even though I realize I come with perks in the form of my bodyguard.” She tossed Anne a wink.

Anne laughed. “You aren’t the only one who needs to rest her bits.”

“I bet.”

“I just don’t have words to describe him. Even the sadness is wrapped up in the allure – I can’t decide whether I want to kiss the hurt, or … kiss everything else.”

Tabitha sighed. “Yeah…”

“Hon, did you two… Were you ever…?”

“Oh, God, no. Logan’s a friend, he’s … family, I guess. We didn’t always get along. Trust me, he can be obnoxious, and that smoldering anger isn’t fun when it goes boom – but he doesn’t hurt women or kids. I just used to be with someone like him, and I know how addicting that whole ‘sexy-moody feral’ combo can be.” They both knew she meant the violent father of the perfect angel in her arms, but neither of them said so.  _Victor is the ultimate elephant in the room, ivory tusks and all._

“So I’m dying of curiosity,” Anne began, smiling. “Does Logan bail at feeding time due to embarrassment, respect for modesty, or what?”

“Or what, definitely – maybe modesty respect, too. I don’t think he’s capable of blushing, and his ‘it’s natural’ kick covers a lot of territory. I’m not sure how much you’ve picked up, but Logan and Victor hate each other to a murderous extreme.”

“Yes, I understand that. He doesn’t say much, but … it’s obvious…” She reached over to stroke the little shock of blonde duck fluff baby hair. “So when you go, if you don’t return to New York, where are you headed?”

“Los Angeles. I want warm weather. Although Vancouver in August isn’t so bad.”

When junior was full, Anne helped her and taught her some more about his care. They got him settled down for a nap in the little simple crib Anne had bought. It sat at the side of Tabitha’s bed in the guest room.

“What are you going to do with that when we go?”

“I can donate it.”

Tabitha sat on the bed gingerly, noticing the nurse was looking out the window.  _She can probably see Logan from here._  “Head on out there, he won’t mind; I’m just going to join junior in a nap.”

“Okay. Give a shout if you need anything.”

She waited a few minutes until she was sure the nurse had gone outside. Getting up carefully, she went to the window and saw Anne straddle Logan’s lap, his thick arms circling her waist protectively as he kissed her. She took the cowboy hat off and wore it as she worked on turning things into a lap dance.

Unbidden, a song Victor loved popped into her head, by his Joe Cocker guy:  _You Can Leave Your Hat On_. He had played it in the Bugatti on the way to lunch on a boat cruise. She turned away to lie back down when she saw Logan stand up with Anne scooped into his arms. She was laughing, holding onto his hat as he carried her into the house.

_Victor… I miss you so much…_

~ ~ ~

“Don’t be a stranger,” Anne teased Logan before he got out of her car at the passenger dropoff. She melted when he kissed her.

“Might knock on yer door one o’ these nights, darlin’. Get a porter t’ help ya at tha hotel,” he added. He opened Tabitha’s door, crouched to look up at her under the hat brim and took her hand in his as his eyebrow arched at her. “LAX in two weeks, or tha truck gets it.”

“Yes, sir,” she said, giving him a salute with her free hand. She smiled, but he couldn’t manage one.

He kissed her cheek and tousled her curls as he stood. “Be safe.”

Looking up at him, she blinked back tears. “Logan … thank you. I’ll see you soon.”

When he shut her door, he patted the roof to send them on their way.

“There goes the strangest and most beautiful man I’ve ever met,” Anne said.

“Whom you aren’t falling for, right?”

“No, not one bit.”

“Uh huh.” Tabitha sighed to see him bypass the entrance to the airport. Anne was too busy dealing with traffic to notice.

Anne didn’t leave until Tabitha and the baby were settled in their hotel room. They exchanged numbers, hugged, and cried. When the door locked behind her, Tabitha had to sit because she was still too tired to pace. She used her new skills as a decently prepared young mom and made sure junior’s needs were met before cuddling with him on the couch.

It was dark by the time her door was knocked on. “Tabitha? It’s Brys – I’m alone.”

Smiling, she carried the sleeping and fed baby with her and let him in. “Hi. I can’t believe I’m actually looking at you. Can I hug you?”

“Only if I get to hold him,” Brys replied and hugged her gently. “Oh my, he’s perfect.”

“He hears that a lot; I’m afraid he’ll get a swollen head.” Tabitha handed him over, not surprised the cook knew how to hold a baby. “I’m not sure what to expect, I was hoping you’d help with the next step. Is … Victor at home up there?”

Brys headed for the couch as Tabitha locked and latched the door. “Not at the moment, he had to make a run down to Portland, and then he plans to return. He’s eager to see you again. The next job is in Detroit, but I believe after that, he has some time off .” He cooed at the baby who was now staring up at him in fascination. “Are you trying to avoid him, or see him?”

“I won’t say I’m not a little terrified, but I need to see him. I … plan to negotiate giving him custody.”

He looked up at her and winced slightly. “Custody…? You aren’t … coming back to him?”

“I can’t be his. If you want reasons, I’ll share all of them. I still love him … but I can’t.”

“I know why. I understand.”

“A lot of this hinges on you and Perrin, since Victor travels so much, among other reasons... I want our son to live where I can see him – if Victor will agree to that. Just visits – as his mother, nothing else. Victor and I need to be … something different now.”

Brys nodded, but he looked worried. “Perrin and I would love to raise this little darling. I have siblings ten years younger, and I used to help care for them.”

“You probably know more than me, then. Um … will Perrin be thrilled, or just tolerant because you want it?”

“He will be thrilled because the child is Mr. Creed’s son.”

Tabitha touched his arm. “It really doesn’t upset you, them … together like they are?”

“No, it doesn’t. Understand, neither of us would have much say if we did object, but Perrin has been through a lot in life and he seems to have a unique gift for handling and caring for Mr. Creed. Some of the other caretakers, in other safe houses, well – a few of them we are friends with. They all agree Perrin has helped smooth Mr. Creed’s more lethal edges, at least toward those of us who work for him.”

“That’s … good. I certainly failed in that aim.” Before she knew what she was doing, she had wrapped her arms around one of his and put her head on his shoulder as if he were Logan. “I know I couldn’t handle sharing Victor. Did you meet Perrin because you both started working for him?”

“I met and fell instantly in love with Perrin years before we ran into him. When we met Mr. Creed, he had jumped in on an impulse and saved both our lives. We had to disappear, and he offered to set us up here.”

“I’d love to hear that story someday.”

“Perhaps.”

“Even the first time, you weren’t jealous of them?”

“I was too busy being afraid he might kill him to be jealous. I still worry, sometimes. Perrin and Mr. Creed both have needs that mesh oddly well, that I wouldn’t be able to fill, for either of them. I’ve seen improvements on both sides. I suppose it tempered most of the misgivings I had and I’m grateful they can be those things for each other.”

“Better you than me, I was jealous as hell. Why did you look worried earlier – is Victor going to be angry in some horrid and violent way? Maybe I shouldn’t actually go there…”

Brys caught her gaze and gave her a sad smile. “He may seem angry, he often does. He doesn’t really know how to be anything else at times. Tabitha – he needs to see you. To really end things, if that is what you want, he will need to hear it from you. He wants his child so much…” He leaned down to kiss the golden fluff. “He also wants you, but he’s … changed. Perrin swore to me that Mr. Creed won’t hurt you.”

“Okay… I know ‘clean break’ is best, but I can’t give up this little guy and never see him again. Do you think he would allow me to visit?”

He sighed. “I couldn’t say, but I hope so. Would it be possible to leave now, or at least before morning?”

“I guess… Why?”

“I’m … a wanted man in much of Canada.”

“You are?”

“I’m afraid so.” When he winked at her, she groaned and laughed. “Actually, I have to get home so the jet can be sent back here again and refueled for the trip to Detroit.”

“You brought his jet to get me?”

“One of his jets. He gave me his personal pilot, though – as I can’t fly a jet.”

“Wow.”

“We can get you both settled comfortably for a couple of days, and Mr. Creed won’t be long. He didn’t want to go on this job.”

“Has he really missed me?”

“He has been … oddly subdued lately. Melancholy on the way to depressed, you might say.”

“Oh…” Tabitha bit her lip.

“This last week, he’s been busy with a project, trying to distract himself. It’s been so strange to see him quietly working away. I’ve had little to do.”

“We can go now if you want. I guess there’s a night clerk at the front desk.”

“Let me handle it, if you don’t mind.” He handed her son back to her before he rose. “What did you name him?”

“I haven’t yet. I want Victor to have a say in the choice. We’ve been calling him ‘junior’.”

“We?”

“Well, you know I’ve been camped out with Logan. I hope you realize why.”

“Mostly, I hope he never learns about the safe house.”

“I agree, and I’m going to make sure it stays safe.” She watched her son’s sweet face. “It must seem nuts to you that I said I still love him – after everything you saw that he did to me.”

“I know that Mr. Creed can be quite different, when he chooses to be.”

“If he’d been ‘different’ toward me from the start, things might have turned out better for him. Even if he had, though – I can’t cope with what he did to Fiona.” At Brys’s questioning look, she added, “The woman my suitcases full of clothes came from, and the diamond. Logan gave that to her…”

~ ~ ~

Tabitha’s introduction to the pilot, Zane, was a little surreal, for a few reasons.  _He looks like an escapee from a 1970s beach western, complete with the handlebar porn-stache._   _This is the man who flies Victor around the world to kill people._  Victor had mentioned once that he sometimes returned to the jet covered in blood.  _The things this man might know…_

She didn’t hand junior over, but she allowed the pilot to see him. Junior didn’t like the jet ride much and let them all know it. They landed in Faro, and Brys and Zane carried her luggage and baby stuff to a black Hummer H1. The sight of the car, though obviously a different one, made her shiver.

Perrin was driving. He got out to greet her and she was surprised when he embraced her. “I knew he’d be beautiful,” he said, stroking the baby’s cheek with a gentle finger.

Brys smiled when he showed her the car seat. “We were hoping.”

When they reached the massive house nestled at and twined through the foot of the Selwyn Mountains, it was still dark. The time in between the first time she saw it and now felt like decades had passed. The trees where she had blown up flamethrower tanks in the snow were surrounded by grass and wildflowers.

As they went inside the house, after Perrin entered the code, Tabitha looked around. “I keep thinking I’m going to see the snow leopard lurking somewhere. I’m glad he was able to take her to Nepal.”

Brys brought in her suitcase and duffle bag as Perrin went to fetch the rest. “He wanted us to set up your former room for you, I hope that will be all right? Your clothes and things from the Vancouver Four Seasons were put away there. Any of that you want to keep, I can pack it when you need to go. We already acquired quite a collection for the baby.”

“Did you get the pump, for the milk?”

“I did.”

Perrin had rejoined them by the time she walked into her former room. Tabitha froze and stared at the space between the bed and the heavily curtained window. She heard them setting down luggage and bags behind her.

“Brys,” she whispered, “would you take him?”

Holding the baby, he smiled at her. “This was his project.”

Tabitha moved to touch it. It was a crib – built and carved by hand. The wood was white and blonde, the style was old fashioned, with rockers. The outer corners were natural pieces of slender white tree trunk.

Most of the outer surface had animals carved into the wood, weaving through trees and mountainsides. The central figure was a trio of cats – a sleek lioness and her soft cub, and rising above them, curling protectively around them, was a majestic male lion.

Her fingers stroked over the family of cats as her tears fell. Inside, it looked like a modern crib with soft light green bedding and blankets.

Perrin spoke behind her, “He chopped the trees, cut the wood, built it, and carved it himself – all by hand. Half the time, I heard I him humming or even singing the same tune, over and over, but I never caught what it was and he wouldn’t tell me. It sounded haunting, and very old.”

Tabitha turned and leaned against him, grateful when he embraced her. “It’s so beautiful…”

“Just like him,” Perrin replied.

Tabitha wasn’t sure if he meant the baby, or Victor…

*****************************************************************

Batting his braid out of his way, Victor carefully cut into the thick piece of blonde poplar wood, his claws forming shapes in it as if they only brushed the surface to find them there.

He was sitting on a huge gray canvas tarp over the wooden floor of the double parlor, surrounded by cut pieces and planks of a poplar and a white birch. Now and then, he picked up the thick soft brush by his crumpled t-shirt and swept the wood dust away. His worn jeans were covered with it.

As he worked, an old folk song floated through his mind. The more he tried to ignore it or chase it out, the more it stuck. Finally, he began to hum it. He didn’t notice when his voice started to softly sing the words that he knew could be his first memory.

“Come a-loo, come a-loo, come a hi-lo  
come down tha merry stream  
Come a ran-tan-tan, come a dippy-dippy-dow  
Hear tha row, tha bow wow wow  
Tha bugle horn, tha big Fi-diddle and tha hidey ho  
Through tha woods we roam boys  
Through tha woods we roam…”

His voice trailed off as he heard someone approach, even though the scent was Perrin’s. The braid had to be batted away again.

“What are you singing, mon beau chat?”

“Nothin’…” He heard the hair sticks click and straightened to let the boy wrap the braid and secure it into a bun at the base of his skull with the fancy black sticks. “Thanks.” Leaning over again, he continued to carve the wood.

“It’s going to be beautiful.” The boy was silent as he watched for a few minutes before turning to leave. “I’ll bring you something to eat in a while.”

Victor didn’t answer as the haunting tune about a fox hunt went on in his head. The cub was almost formed, if not finished. He paused and touched it with a fingertip, careful not to let his claw prick the carving above it.

~ ~ ~

The boy was spent, still lying between Victor’s raised knees. His warm weight over Victor’s softening cock was as welcome a comfort as their mating had been.

“I think you’re still carving in your head,” Perrin murmured over the fur on his chest. “If you didn’t want to be finished, start something else?”

He shifted, and the boy always knew what he wanted. Moving off of him, he watched Victor roll onto his stomach. Pillowing his head on folded arms, he stared off at the cluttered mantel over the empty fireplace. The last of the sunlight through the window glowed on a crystal box there.

“Victor… It will –”

“Don’t,” he whispered. The boy fell silent, but restlessness and frustration grew until he got up and opened the window.

“Victor?”

“Call fer me when it’s time t’ clean up t’ leave fer Portland.”

“That’s not for three days yet…”

“Not ‘til then.”

He climbed through the window and out onto the mountainside as easily as the snow leopard ever had. The smells of sunset over a thick forest in summer drew him off into the trees at a lope on all-fours. Heedless of little branches that struck his bare skin or tried to catch in his long loose hair, he ran until the light faded.

~ ~ ~

Her scent in the house was fresh – their scents. Victor dropped the duffle bag on his bed and stood still, listening. Outside the closed master suite and down the hall, in her old room – the unmistakable cry of a baby sounded.

Behind him, Perrin approached from the hidden stairs. “She brought him.”

“Brought … ‘im…” Victor whispered.

Perrin stood at his side but didn’t touch him. “You have a son, Victor. He’s beautiful and perfect. She loves the cradle.”

Reaching out, he touched one of the doors to the hall with his fingertips. “Will she stay?” The gentle touch of the boy’s hand on his arm told him everything. He bowed his head onto the cool wood and drew in a ragged breath, letting it out slow. “Why’d she come, then?”

“You … should ask her.”

“I…” He growled softly in frustration. Straightening, he managed to open the doors quietly and went down the hall. Perrin followed.

Brys was there, but when he appeared, the cook moved to the door. “I’ll be in the kitchen,” he said. As he headed for the stairs, Perrin went with him.

Victor stood in the doorway and silently watched. She hadn’t realized he was there. She sat on the side of the bed next to the cradle with a bundle wrapped in green in her arms. Her blouse was opened as she nursed the tiny baby with a shock of blonde hair on his head.

“Forgot how pretty ya are,” he said, his voice softened by the sight of his cub in her arms. He winced when she startled and he could scent her fear.

“Victor… I – I didn’t mean to… I’m sorry. I’m glad you’re back. Would you come in?”

He moved to the chair at the small table, near the cradle, and sat without a word.

“He’s hungry.” Her smile as she looked at the cub was soft and private, and it made his stomach flip. She looked up at him. “I haven’t named him, I wanted you to have a say in that. Did you ever think about it?”

“Thought ‘bout lotsa stuff,” he whispered. “Did ya waste any time at all thinkin’ ‘bout what yer not givin’ me a say in? Why show ‘im t’ me, if yer just gonna…”

“Because I’m hoping to grant you full custody; all I want is the right to visit him. I trust Brys and Perrin to help raise him, and if he’s here, I can … see him. You know I wouldn’t allow anything to threaten this place with him here.” She gave him a sad smile when she noticed his Pink Floyd t-shirt. “That’s the shirt I wore, when…” She stopped and sighed. “Is that something that you could want?”

“That ain’t all I want.”

“I can’t.”

“Tell me why.”

“You already know. I can’t cope with how you live, or with how you would expect me to live. I can’t share you, and you wouldn’t change for me, you know you wouldn’t. I have to say this, and I’m not saying it to tease or torment you, it’s just a fact – I still love you, but I can’t stay and I can’t be yours.”

“Cuz o’ a collection o’ fools I’ve killed, meat t’ be wasted, yer just gonna…”

“Victor, I know what you did … to Fiona. You said she was trying to betray you, but she was just a terrified woman trying to help a man she had feelings for. She had no part in your feud. Logan shouldn’t have asked her to spy for him, but you did things … so horrific, it just – it made me sick. I see no difference between myself and a woman like her, and a man capable of that…” She sighed. “Logan did help me piece together the truth about what Ellison did to us both. I wish we’d been the sort of couple that would have allowed me to trust you, to not so easily be afraid that you were springing a well-planned trap. You mentioned a surprise, a ‘merry chase through the woods’, and I … I thought you were going to kill me. Did you know that you hurt me, the last time we…?”

He lifted his gaze from his fingers and stared at her, startled. “No…”

“I realized that later, that you were too hyped up on the destruction to know it. With everything else that happened right after … I believed what Ellison did was you. That happened because we didn’t have a foundation built on trust or love, or anything but cruelty, horror, fear, and pain… Victor you told me you planned to lead me into loving you because then killing me would be more ‘fun’. When you hurt me and left me, you asked if I loved you… You were terrifying. What could I do? I had to survive, for me, for our son… I am sorry you were injured so badly. I guess I’m not sorry you killed Ellison or Rothenberg, but … Fiona…”

Victor slumped in the chair with his palms open helplessly on his thighs. “Couldn’t see ya as anythin’ more’n a way t’ hurt Cueball at first, an’ t’ pay ya back fer tha Danger Room.”

“I know, but … abuse, terror, and rape isn’t going to make me capable of trusting you. Even later when you changed and I was shocked that I loved you, I was still afraid – of your intentions, of your anger and violent nature… You told me you loved me, but you still treated me like a possession. I understand the feral alpha thing better now, but I’m not a feral, and I can’t live like a slave.”

“Maybe I could try…” He trailed off, unable to stop the whirling thoughts and emotions. They circled in time with his quickening heartbeat, dizzying and loud in his ears. He could almost hear the desperate flutter of frantic wings.

“Victor … do you want to hold our son?”

He looked up to see the cub release the nipple. She moved to cover her swollen breast as quickly as she could without jostling him in her arm as she fastened buttons. Scooting closer, she reached to touch his palm with her fingertips.

“I … dunno if I … know how t’ do that.” She met his gaze and he shivered at the clash of emotions he read in those ocean eyes. “Don’t wanna risk hurtin’…”

“You won’t. You don’t hurt cubs, you protect them. I’ll show you how.” She put him against her chest and shoulder over a hand towel and patted his small back until he let out a burp. “I had to learn, too; I didn’t know anything.”

He couldn’t hide how his fingers trembled when she placed the cub in his arms and put his hands where they needed to be to hold him safely. Looking down, he watched the tiny thing stare up at him. He had to remember to breathe.

“Isn’t he beautiful?”

Victor nodded. When he could talk, he muttered, “Blue eyes… Are they like a kitten’s? All born blue?”

“So I’m told, but given our genes, he’s probably going to be a blonde and blue-eyed heartbreaker, just like his parents.”

He had already caught the cub’s scent in the master suite, but now he breathed it in deep. The struggle not to bristle at the scent of the runt all over her was maddening, but the cub was free of that rival feral musk.

Tabitha smiled at him and turned to stroke the side of the cradle. “This took my breath away. I had no idea you could make something like that. Don’t be angry at him, but … Perrin told me you were singing as you carved it. Would you tell me what you sang?”

He couldn’t look at her. “Ain’t nothin’, just a folk song that’s older than me, older than dirt, maybe. It’s ‘bout a fox hunt.”

“Did you ever think about names?”

“If it was a girl, ‘Victoria’.”

“Because of your name?”

“Cuz o’ Ma. I was named fer ‘er.”

“Oh… I thought you … hated her?”

Victor shook his head. “Buildin’ an’ carvin’ that, tha song just tumbled int’ my head. I think … she used t’ sing it t’ me. It dredged a lotta confusin’ stuff up outta tha muck. Maybe how she died might not be real, but I dunno what tha truth is, neither.”

She moved closer. “I hope you find out and I hope it’s a better memory. Did you … have a name for a boy?”

“What tha Frenchman used t’ call me before I remembered my name.” His son waved a fist and when Victor touched it with a thick finger, the tiny hand grabbed it. “Michel used t’ call me Silas…”

Tabitha leaned in and rested her head on his shoulder as they both looked down at the baby holding Victor’s finger. “Hello, little Silas,” she whispered.

~ ~ ~

Victor paced in his study. Tabitha was in her room using a breast pump so that their son would have a supply of mother’s milk when she left. He looked up when Brys knocked on the doorframe.

“Lenusya has made arrangements, sir. Do you remember Leimomi’s youngest daughter?”

“Nalani.”

“She and her husband Kai have a son very close to Silas’s age, named Kaleho. Lenusya told me that they are willing to come and help.”

“Can they stay ‘til tha boys are weened? Ain’t gonna be no powder crap in that kitchen.”

“Yes, sir, they can. Your offer was very generous, and while I may not be able to imagine wanting to leave Hawaii, Leimomi told me that Nalani has always wanted to travel.”

“Good. Next time ya talk t’ Leimomi, tell ‘er I promise t’ behave, too. She worries.”

“I will, sir.”

~ ~ ~

The forest air was intoxicating as Victor breathed deeply and took it all in, partly to calm his agitation and also to be certain the delicate young woman walking at his side would be safe.

Tabitha wore a colorful sundress and sandals that smelled like sunshine on sand. Unfortunately, the flowy cotton also smelled like Logan, as did far too much of her tanned skin. He tried to ignore it. She looked exotic in the deep northern woods of the Yukon.

He’d been in worn jeans only for days, trying to remember now and then to throw on a shirt. He had tied back his hair into a ponytail and pulled on Joe Cocker as an afterthought, but couldn’t return her smile when she noticed. Barefoot in the woods in summer was as vital as air.

“Do ya feel strong ‘nuff fer this?”

“Yes, I’m okay. I’m safe, too – you’re the only predator for miles, I bet.”

“There’s lotsa ‘em; they don’t run from me unless they know I’m huntin’.” He stared at her hand as she offered it for the walk she’d asked for. Victor swallowed a growl, sighed, and held it as they walked on.

“Nothing happened, Victor. I never did anything with Logan that I wouldn’t have done with Jubilee.”

“An’ how would I know tha boundaries ya got with Short Round?”

“I’m … a huggy person, and I was scared and lonely. We don’t see each other that way, we’re friends.”

He couldn’t help the growl at that. “Hate that he touched ya at all, but I guess it ain’t my biz now, huh?”

“Can I tell you something I found out that you might actually want to hear?”

“Depends – it gotta runt in it?”

“Well…”

He frowned. “Shoot.”

“It wasn’t just him, it was Hank, too – they both agree that Professor Xavier screwed up and treated you terribly, totally messed up how to handle you. They’re both sorry it happened.”

Victor snorted. “Gotta dime? Takes more’n their pathetic way-too-late pity t’ buy a cup o’ joe.”

“I don’t think it was anything to do with pity, but okay – I’ll shut up.”

“Don’t wanna jaw ‘bout ‘em,” he said, bringing her hand up to kiss her knuckles. “Rather just be with ya.” He tugged gently at her hand in his when the sound of the stream got closer through the trees. They were skirting the mountainside that the house was burrowed into, but the house was a good distance away. “Come on, wanna show ya somethin’.”

When they reached the small clearing in a grove of white birch and poplars, Victor released her hand and walked ahead of her. Taking it all in, he scented the place, still able to feel the echoes which were far kinder than his ghosts.

_Someday, she’ll be one o’ those ghosts, probly long before she’s old an’ gone – ‘nother mistake I couldn’t fix,‘nother wound that won’t never heal._

“This looks like… Was there a house here?”

“A cabin, a long time ago. I helped build it – was taught how t’ do woodworkin’ here.”

Tabitha studied the clearing, spotted the old stones – a ruin of a hearth – and moved to touch them. The log walls and thatch roof were gone, but the hearth lingered, refusing to die – like him.

“Is this … a secret place for you?”

“I ‘spose, but … ya already know that secret.”

“Michel Richoux.” She turned to face him. “I thought you were following the railroad in tents.”

“This was after, when my murderous pigheadedness kept gettin’ me in trouble. We left before they could try t’ hang me, built this cabin and lived here. Nobody owned tha land yet, it was just wilderness. We hunted t’gether too, fished in tha stream ya can hear through tha trees, an’ I was … happy, I think – much as I ever can be with my fucked-up head.”

“Is this why you bought the land?”

Victor nodded. “Are ya tired? Ya can sit on tha hearth bench, it ain’t gonna fall before tha mountain does.”

“Thanks, I am, a little.”

She settled on it and for a moment, time caved in on him as the scent of tobacco rose in his memory.

“I used t’ sit on tha floor there, packed dirt floor, an’ leaned on tha hearth bench t’ rest. Hadn’t really got tha hang o’ sittin’ in chairs, then.” He turned slightly and pointed. “Right there was tha table an’ two chairs, he showed me how t’ make tha furniture. He’d sit in ‘is chair an’ tell me ‘bout tha Civil War an’ stories o’ stuff that happened in Europe. I thought they were just stories, like he made ‘em up, ‘til after servin’ in World War I when I saw a history book in a rich man’s house in Philly. I was just a dumb animal when I lived here, like tha men on tha tracks said.”

“Victor, would you sit with me?” He came to her slowly, unsure, but sat next to her. She slipped her hand in his. “Would you call the snow leopard you saved a ‘dumb animal’?”

“Nope.”

“People like that are awful, but they were trying to hurt you. You know you aren’t stupid. You are a feral, but … well, animals are wonderful – anyone using them as an insult are morons.”

“Yer not exactly nature gal, defender o’ critters,” he teased.

“No, I’m a city gal, but it’s still true.”

Victor shifted to face her, lifting her knuckles to his lips to kiss them again. He watched her, quietly breathing in her scent – hoping it would change and warm for him.

“What happened to Michel?”

“He wasn’t immortal – dead an’ buried over a century ago.”

“If you don’t want to talk about it, that’s okay.” She lifted her hand and touched his face. “I did miss you. I wanted you with me in the delivery room so badly – it felt wrong, not being able to share that with you.”

He pressed his face into her touch and closed his eyes. “How long can ya stay?”

“Just a few more days. The safety of this place is riding on that, so I can’t stay longer.”

His eyes opened only to narrow into a glare. “Lemme guess – ya show tha runt yer alive, or he comes after me. Shakin’ in my boots, here.”

She sighed and dropped her hand. “This would be so simple if you didn’t hate each other. Fiona would be alive, and maybe we’d be together.”

“Could be, if...”

“If ... what?”

“Tabitha ... I still love ya, still need ya…”

He bent to kiss her lips, light and imploring. When she didn’t stop it, his free hand cupped a swollen breast. She wasn’t wearing a bra. She had told Brys that her breasts could hurt if the nursing wasn’t regular. He broke the kiss and touched his forehead to hers. Slowly, as if she were a small songbird he was trying not to startle, he let go of her hand and carefully freed her leaking breasts from the protectively lined front of the dress. Lowering his head, he took a nipple between his lips and gently began to suckle the sweet milk from it.

“Oh God, Victor...” Her hands held his head, not rejecting, but offering comfort.

He moved to suckle the other and felt something break and surface in his mind. It was gossamer and fleeting, soft as the breast between his lips and as sweet as the milk it gave him. He didn’t understand it, and at a loss, he pulled away in fear of it.

Afraid to face her, he hid under her curls, resting his head on her shoulder. The skin there still bore his marks, but he knew she wouldn’t stay – somehow he’d always known it.

When she drew back, he leaned against the stones behind them and didn’t watch as she covered herself. What he had done had spiked her scent into heat, yet he knew her body wasn’t recovered enough to take him, and the fear that she would refuse him left him feeling confused and lost. Over the trees, a flock of birds soared and disappeared. The son would be hungry soon, but there was nothing to fill the hunger deep within the father.

“You never really said if you agreed with me coming to visit,” she whispered, already pretending the exchange hadn’t happened.

Victor knew instinctively how and why that wouldn’t work. They had an addiction for each other, despite the choice she was making for them both. It was in his nature to push for more and she couldn’t control the scent of heat that had the power to drive him mad. Beyond that was this softer longing – for not only a mate, but for a companion and comfort.

A growl began. He spoke to quiet it. “Gimme legal custody an’ we can put in visitin’ rights, but ya gotta respect tha secrecy an’ security o’ this place, an’ my privacy an’ my secrets. Nobody comes here but ya, ever. Make yer arrangements with Brys fer visits, an’ one o’ tha boys’ll bring ya in from Vancouver. I don’t care how often or fer how long, but Silas stays here.”

“Okay...”

She folded her hands on her lap and lowered her head. The alluring scent of her desire to mate curled and lingered between them, sharpening his need until it strained against the seams of his jeans. He watched her fingers twitch and hesitate, and knew that she wanted to touch him.

 _She didn’t stop me from sucklin’ ‘er breasts; how far would she allow things t’ go before rememberin’ she’s sayin’ no? Can’t take ‘er on as somethin’ casual – want ‘er entire._ “Tabitha ... if ya won’t be my mate – then ya need t’ visit when I ain’t here.”

“Why? I can’t see you?” she protested, her tears rising.

“I can’t do this. I can cope with yer scent in tha house when ya ain’t here, but if we’re here t’gether... I’m gonna want more’n yer willin’ t’ give.”

“What if I was … willing? I’m still recovering, the birth … there’s a tear. On a visit, couldn’t we…?”

“Ya won’t take all I’ve tried t’ offer ya cuz ya don’t want it or me unless I become somethin’ I ain’t an’ can’t be. If ya just wanted t’ get off, maybe that could work … fer ya. I don’t wanna fuck buddy, I got that in spades. I wanna mate.”

“You want an international harem,” she muttered. “I want to be … special.”

“So this fuck buddy plan yer proposin’, how is that ‘special’? Pencil yerself in as one o’ tha people I fuck t’ scratch an itch, an’ it ain’t gonna be what ya want. ‘Special’ is earned, Tabitha. Ya can’t kick others outta my bed an’ try t’ change me t’ suit ya when ya ain’t givin’ back t’ me what I need.”

She stared at him, stunned. He looked out through the trees and up the side of the mountain and saw myriad flickers of dusty memories, almost at once. The stream and mountain, the forest, the cabin … two figures moved through them together. The tall man who knew the world and the crouched and loping feral animal who was afraid of the world.

One memory sparked from the depths: strong arms holding him in a crumpled heap on a dirt floor as blood flowed from his back. The angry voice had spoken in French, angry at the invading hunter who had shot him as he ran through the trees.

_‘[Run, boy, up into the caverns. Don’t come out until I call for you, no matter what you hear.]’_

He had obeyed, but he had watched as his mate invited the hunter into their cabin den. Soon enough, the hunter had screamed. The call came when he saw his mate drag the hunter out into the trees by the stream. Creeping up, half-crawling to him, he had crouched and looked up, in pain and afraid.

 _‘[You need to eat to heal, understand me?]’_  His mate’s shining blade was covered with the hunter’s blood, the throat opened up. He cut the cloth open to expose the body.  _‘[Get to it, boy. It’s nothing but meat.]’_

Hunger had curled in his belly as he sank his teeth into his mate’s kill and ate, feeling the hand that stroked his back. He knew the blade would pierce him, to rid the flesh of the bullet so that it could heal. When it happened, he didn’t snarl. It hurt, but then the hand soothed as the flesh knit.

He’d left little of the meat behind. The cloth and wet remains were buried in the forest. He had curled up in front of the warm fire on a blanket and watched as his mate sat on the hearth bench above him to carve pieces out of one of the bones. Using the tip of the blade, he coaxed flying birds out of the bone – like some kind of wonderful magic. Carefully scorching the birds in the fire beside him, he turned them into ravens.

The strong fingers had been gentle as they braided the bead into his hair. The hand covered the back of his neck and pulled him up into a warm embrace on the stones, the blanket falling away from his nude body.

_‘[When they come to hurt you, don’t let them kill you. I know I said not to kill in the towns, or on the tracks, but this is a hunt. You’re either the predator or the prey. You outwit them, hunt them, kill them. You don’t owe them your life just because fate made you something they fear. You kill them if they hunt you, boy. There’s never been a hunter like you.]’_

He stared at the grass and wildflowers growing around his bare feet in front of the hearth stones. The earth beneath him held whatever was left of his mate: out of reach, lost in time, the memory of long-dead worms, and the dust of bones.

“Victor? Victor, are you okay?” Her hand had touched his hair, the fingers moving the cylindrical bead of bone tied into it to touch his bare shoulder. The bead swung back over her hand, and it looked like the ravens were flying.

He shook his head to clear it and shuddered. “I … I dunno…”

“I guess we’re stuck,” she whispered. “I can’t fit in your world as it is, and you won’t try to change it unless I do. If I did try, it would swallow me whole – it already has. I can’t be the little wife who kisses you when you finally come home to me, wondering what horrors you’ve done and trying not to be afraid that it could be me someday. I know I can’t be the wife who sits in the kitchen and cries while you screw the servant upstairs. I hope you understand that I do want you and love you, but this decision is … what I need to do.”

Victor sighed. “Darlin’, that just makes this harder t’ bear.”

“I’m sorry...”

The scent of her tears tugged at him to touch her, so he got up and got some distance. Old memories and shattered dreams couldn’t leap into a warming fire now – their ashes were cold, and he’d done more than his share to smother the embers. “Me, too, babe.”

He left the clearing and she slowly joined him. Neither of them spoke on the walk back.

~ ~ ~

An explosion of paperwork was spread over his desk in the study. Tabitha was dwarfed in his chair, trying to read it all. Victor had stretched out on the couch with his son. The cub was the center of a soft green bundle circled by one arm, impossibly tiny and fascinating.

“You could’ve warned me that your lawyer was a sadist,” she muttered. “Do I have to read every page of this? Can’t I just trust you and sign it?”

“Wanna play ‘what would Logan say’?” He couldn’t quite keep the sneer out of his tone. Silas grabbed his finger again and won a smile out of him. “Take it t’ Brys if ya want, he can read legal shit in seven languages.”

She turned the swivel chair to face him. “And miss seeing you play with our kid?”

“Call ‘im up here, then. Intercom’s behind that narrow tapestry by tha table in tha bedroom – tha one with tha ravens on it.”

“Now you tell me. You always kept that room so dark, I never even noticed any tapestries, even on my Nancy Drew hunt. Why is it hidden?”

“Don’t like t’ see modern tech clutterin’ up tha place.”

She got up and opened the sliding door to his bedroom, but then hesitated. He and the boy had left his bed a mess after the nature walk and he’d told Brys to leave it that way.

“I wish things were different.”

“Yer tha one makin’ this play; ya could change yer mind.”

Keeping her back to him, she whispered, “It wouldn’t work, and you know it.”

Victor frowned. “Ya can’t say ya didn’t have a clue what I was prior.”

“I don’t blame you for being angry, but try to remember that the first thing you did was toss me in your dungeon, and then in your corpse bin. It takes two.”

Watching her, he sighed. “Ya grew up.”

“I had to. I couldn’t keep dreaming that I had the ability to help you change. In the end, I was the one who changed.” She went into the bedroom and called for the cook. When she came back out, she sat in the chair with her elbows on the desk and hid her face in her hands.

“Tabs?”

“What?” she answered through her hands.

“Tryin’ not t’ snip at ya. It ain’t easy.”

She peeked at him with tears in her eyes. “Is that supposed to be an apology?”

“I guess. I ain’t had much practice – or … any practice…”

Sitting up to face him, she wiped at her eyes. “I’ll take it. Maybe we could talk a little later?”

Victor didn’t answer or look up as Brys arrived. Silas had fallen asleep. After an hour of listening to Brys explain things, Tabitha finally began scratching a pen over the papers.

“I hope you don’t plan to move him much, as stated in section ‘what the heck does that mean’ of page nine. I doubt if you want to show me more safe houses.”

“Probly only t’ Vancouver, an’ he won’t be travelin’ with me. Most folks are gonna think he’s Brys’s kid an’ that’ll be safer fer ‘im an’ everybody else.”

“This is the paperwork I got to fill in his birth certificate… Can I put your name on it as the father? Is that safe? There are people at Lion’s Gate hospital who know you’re the father. Speaking of which, I’d appreciate it if you left them in peace.”

Victor met her gaze. “Ya wanna record like that floatin’ ‘round? X-chumps can dig that up just tha same as any o’ my other enemies can.”

“I want it to say our names,” she whispered.

“I’m sure Mr. Yahalom can have the records sealed, sir,” Brys suggested. Nodding to them both, he left.

“There ya go, darlin’. Prob solved.”

“Can he seal them against mutants with special talents who really want to hurt either of us?”

“Gimme some credit, huh? I been at this ‘cover yer ass’ game way longer than ya have. Shaul Yahalom is a mutant with special talents. Anybody not authorized t’ read it is just gonna find a dry cleanin’ receipt or a recipe fer apple pie. He’s gonna meet ya in Vancouver t’ go over t’ tha Vital Statistics office an’ file stuff.”

“Okay, that works. He’s Jewish? Is he aware of your, um … colorful past?”

“Yup, an’ he understands that sitch better’n ya ever made an effort t’.”

“I can only go by what you’re willing to tell me.”

“Yeah, funny how that works. Ya sure like t’ take assumin’ tha worst t’ Olympic levels, though. ‘Sides, ya already know more o’ my deep darks than I’m comfortable with, considerin’ ya got yer bags packed t’ go runnin’ back t’ yer runt cuddle buddy.” Victor twitched and pinned his aching ears when Silas woke and began to cry, but then he smirked. “Gotta set o’ lungs, don’t he?”

“I changed him while you were having your payback tryst with Perrin, so he’s probably hungry. Unless an angry dad bitching at mom is upsetting – always a possibility,” Tabitha added, and rose from the chair. “Do you want me to take him?”

“Guess ya better, cuz my nipples ain’t got tha good stuff.” As she came to pick up the cub, Victor touched her forearm gently over the scars he didn’t leave on her skin. “Wait…”

“Victor…”

“Wish I coulda saved ya from Ellison an’ then had a chance t’ make things good again…”

She held their cub and leaned down to lightly kiss his forehead under his messy hair. “I wish you had never been hurt when you were a boy.”

Victor rolled to his back with a grunt as she left and laid his head on the arm of the couch. His hands rested over his ribs, the claws slowly sliding out in pent up frustration.

~ ~ ~

Lying in bed with his head pillowed on his arm, Victor brushed his hair out of his eyes and away from the tough but delicate-looking high-tech metal circlet centered over his forehead. Staring at the still-warm space beside him that the boy had left moments ago, he focused his thoughts and called up a memory that made his breath hitch in his throat.

The Memory Image Inducer that Stark had made for him in exchange for Rothenberg’s ill-gotten armor plate vests warmed on his skin slightly. How it worked was beyond him, but its results far surpassed the Shi’ar-based device Cueball had wanted him to use in captivity.

Projected from his mind, the form of a woman took shape. Her long golden curls were spread out on a purple pillowcase, not the gray one that was physically there. The image of her beauty was only slightly opaque and nearly flawless. Blue eyes stared into his with an eager hunger and fascination, and if he worked to concentrate on sense memory, he could even scent her smooth skin and the blossoming heat that never seemed to fade.

Reaching out, he knew he couldn’t touch her, but the memory was strong enough that he could sense how it had felt to stroke and cup her heavy breast. Fingers miming the movement, it looked so real… A hard-light hologram had been an option he had declined in favor of the sensors that could give him her scent.

The soft pink lips parted and spoke aloud in the room, “I don’t know how, but … I want to.”

Swallowing the lump in his throat that hadn’t been there when the memory was made, Victor whispered to her, “I’ll teach ya.”

Intruding over her scent, he caught the conflicting mix of scents of Tabitha as she approached the doors. She was leaving soon. The thought disrupted the memory and Bonnie’s sweet image disappeared. With a sigh, he slipped the circlet off and shifted to put it back in its small metal velvet-lined case. Tucking it away under the other pillow, he laid back down and sighed when she knocked on one of the doors.

“It ain’t locked,” he muttered.

“You didn’t come down for breakfast.” She was in a bathrobe, and the memory of dragging one off of her shoulders and away from her breasts with his teeth made him frown.

“Not hungry, babe.”

“Will you talk with me? I have to leave after lunch.”

“Ain’t gotta leave at all.”

“The appointment I have to make is with your lawyer, which you arranged. I signed lots of pages basically stating I wouldn’t inflict anyone on your home but myself, so…”

Victor didn’t reply to that. In the silence, as she took in his nude body eclipsed low at his hips by a thin gray silk sheet, the scent of her heat rose to devil him. “This ‘talk’ probly shouldn’t happen in tha nearly all-t’gether with ya smellin’ like a wet dream, darlin’.” When she came closer and sat on the edge of the bed by his thighs, a warning growl thrummed through his throat as his ears pinned. “Ain’t ya tha one who always insisted that ‘back off’ don’t mean ‘get in my space’?”

“You know I can’t help that. I need to ask you something.”

“Better be fuckin’ important.”

“It is to me…”

With a groan, he pulled his legs up away from her and sat up with legs crossed and the sheet wadded in his lap. His palms cupped his knees as the claws slid out. He didn’t care if the stiffening dick embarrassed or enticed her. He’d stayed in bed to avoid this, but then she had to arrive anyway, smelling like that…

“Please stop growling at me? It’s pretty nervewracking…”

“Talk or go – or stay an’ fuck. I ain’t gonna be teased.”

“This is difficult for me too,” she whispered. “Victor … I think I’ve been misunderstanding something about how you perceived what I did in the Danger Room. You’ve mentioned it more than once, being angry about what I did, saying I don’t understand it… I thought you meant my guilt-ridden inappropriate touching, but now I don’t think that’s really what upset you, or something else about it upsets you more? I’d like to understand…”

“Don’t wanna jaw ‘bout that. Yer leavin’ me – why’s it matter t’ ya now?”

“Please, Victor…”

He slumped where he sat. Unable to look at her, one hand rose and shoved his loose hair behind his pinned ears. His fingers toyed with one of the bone beads in the shorter locks of hair that hung around his face.

“Those are … pretty. I like the one with the birds, next to it. What is carved on that one?”

“White roses.”

“Oh. A lot of them. You seem to like that…”

“Eleven o’ ‘em. T’ tha French, white roses can mean ‘I love ya silently’. There bein’ eleven means ‘ya trapped my heart’.”

Her cheeks turned pink. “It’s bone, it looks … old?”

“It’s from Michel.”

“He gave it to you?”

“It’s ‘is bone. I cut an’ carved it after they killed ‘im, like he made some o’ tha others fer me.” He sighed into her silence, his fingers touching the carved ravens before the hand dropped again. His claws slowly retracted. “My inner beast in tha Danger Room, how ya acted, tha things ya did, he thought ya were choosin’ ‘im t’ mate with ya. Tha scent o’ yer heat was strong. He – I – thought ya wanted t’ be my mate. When I got my brains back, I knew ya were just tryin’ t’ scratch an itch. I didn’t understand things like intentions t’ be kind. Tha beast understands kindness better than I do an’ craves it, where I just … wait fer it t’ turn on me. When things changed between us, when ya smelled like ya wanted me… He can push me sometimes. He wants what he wants an’ never learned retraint or patience, neither. Still … he’s kinder than I am. He can be a protector, an’ kills t’ eat or defend. I’m just a killer.”

“So, when you hurt me…?”

“That was tha upright violent feral I became who hates yer X-tribe an’ wanted t’ hurt ‘em back. Tha beastie… He bonded with ya a long time ago. Ya never let ‘im loose or let ‘im mate, but … ya gave food, comfort … kindness. He woulda killed t’ defend ya, but then my brain healed, an’ tha need t’ get away from tha captors that were hurtin’ me came out as manipulatin’ ya t’ gimme a shot at freedom. Ya became just ‘nother o’ Cueball’s hated soldiers. When I was loose an’ desperate t’ escape t’ get away from that sick telepathic fuck, he didn’t come t’ face what he’d done t’ me. Only Psylocke did, an’ she was just – in my way.”

“Oh, Victor… I wish…” She reached for him to hold her and he pulled her into his arms on his lap. “Wait,” she whispered, when she felt his erection press against her thigh.

“I won’t hurt ya … I won’t ever hurt ya, I swear it…” He kissed her to silence her, one arm circling her back. She stiffened in his arms when he gripped her and twisted to put her under him on her back. “I won’t,” he breathed out the promise as his hands tore open the robe.

He moved down and claimed with his mouth that tormenting wetness. His tongue found the healing wound his cub had made when he was born and left it alone to lick and suck at her pussy with a desperate need.

She had slapped her hands down onto his shoulders and pushed at first, but when the pleasure began to build, she clung to him.

“Victor … please…”

He lifted his head and stared up at her until she met his gaze. “I only wanna give ya pleasure…”

“What about you? I can’t…” Tears streamed down her face.

He didn’t answer. He slid his tongue deep inside her body and felt her finally open to him as he pleasured her over and over, suckling at her wet flesh to taste her, trying to lock the feelings into his senses to fight off the emptiness of her leaving. He didn’t stop until she sucked in a sharper breath and softly asked him to.

“Hold me, please?”

He moved to lie next to her and pulled her into his arms. The hard heat of his cock was pressed between their bodies.

“I didn’t … want you to see how I look now…” she whispered, her scent spiced with anxiety and embarrassment.

His hand moved to caress gently over her belly. “Yer body fed an’ sheltered our cub, helped ‘im grow – nothin’ ‘bout it that ain’t beautiful.” He hid his face in her curls by her neck and hissed softly, unable to stop his urgent need to mate from pushing his cock against her hip.

“Victor, let me up…” Reluctantly, he released her and watched as she sat up. She put her little hand over his inner thigh and tugged. “I want between them,” she whispered. Kneeling there, knees apart for balance, she leaned forward and grasped his leaking cock. She squeezed his shaft and held his gaze, giving him a smile on the verge of more tears. “I love you and you don’t have to be afraid of what I know. I wish Xavier hadn’t hurt you like so many others did.” She kissed the head of his cock and ran her tongue around it as the foreskin retracted.

He groaned and shot all of his claws out to pierce the bed. He didn’t close his eyes – she’d be gone all too soon, and he didn’t know when or if he’d ever see her again. She would be a scent in the halls, another ghost trapped in the hollow pit that pounded in his chest.

“Tabitha … don’t…”

She knew, she nodded, the tears slipping down her cheeks as her tongue toyed with his slit, licking the clear pre-cum from it.

“I have to, love… I wish it were different…”

Taking him into her hot mouth, she sucked him as deeply as she could, one hand stroking the shaft, the other squeezing his golden furry sack hard enough to make any other man scream. When she released it, she sought the other place and pushed one finger in without hesitation. Crooking it, she drove him mad with pleasure as she sucked until he filled her mouth. She struggled to swallow it, though some dripped from her lips. Knowing what he wanted, she released his body and laid down at his side again. He rolled against her and kissed her, licking her clean of his seed. Careful and soft, he cupped a breast.

“If you need to, you can drink again. I want you to.” She gasped as he leaned over her and latched on to suckle. She held his head to her breast and stroked his hair. “Drink, my love… Oh, Victor … I love you, I’m so sorry for them all and what they did to you…”

It took over his mind – her voice, her sweet comfort and her milk. He knew this sensation, the peace and the comfort of the warm nourishment; it fled from him across all the time and all the hatred, to find him again, smaller, weak, and sick, held by thin arms and a quiet, timid love. Fear was there too, somewhere – the loud brutal male, the lash at his back when his small body failed to keep working…

Shuddering, he released her nipple and hid in her hair again. It was short, blonde and curling and smelled like vanilla. It wasn’t her. It wasn’t them, and he wasn’t small and weak anymore.

The soft delicate hands still stroked his hair. “I have to get dressed. Maybe you should sleep a little more. I won’t leave without saying goodbye, I promise.”

He let her up, kissed her when she leaned down to kiss his lips. When she left the room, he sat up and put his head in his hands.  _Somethin’ ain’t right,_  he thought, afraid of where these shifting shattered memories were leading.  _Afraid t’ sleep… Afraid … t’ remember any more._

*****************************************************************

Tabitha held her son and kissed his little crying face. “It’s like he knows,” she told them, and sighed, tears in her own eyes. “Oh, baby, don’t cry. I’ll get settled somewhere and see you soon, my little Silas. I love you so much!” She handed him to Perrin and blew little kisses. “Bye sweetheart…” It was awful to watch him walk out of the open doors of the master suite and disappear down the hall. Sniffing, she asked Brys, “Where is Victor?”

“Waiting in the hangar. He took your bags down himself.”

“I better hug you and cry on you now, or he’ll tease us both for doing it in front of him.”

Brys let her hug him, but chuckled. “I’m flying you to Vancouver, so we could technically do this there.”

“Right. I’m an emotional wreck, sorry.” The elevator ride, the rental snow mobile she’d ridden out here on, the sight of the black helicopter – it was a parade of strange memories and even stranger feelings. “Faro people still think I’m MIA? That’s sad … they were so nice to me.”

“That’s why we plan to fly you back and forth from the hangar here to the Vancouver airport.”

“To Victor’s hangar over there?”

“No, we’ll be borrowing one from Mr. Obinata. It isn’t safe for you to be seen in Mr. Creed’s facilities, just in case.”

“Where is he?” She glanced around for the six foot six massive feral, sure she couldn’t miss him.

“Right over there.” Brys pointed to a darker corner not illuminated by the lights that had turned on around them as they approached the helicopter. He left her to go and check over the machine.

For a moment, she startled when she saw only the glowing amber of his eyes. The outer hangar door began to open, controlled by Perrin overhead where she’d never been allowed to go. He was so protective of Silas, he’d probably carried him up there with him. The light of the summer afternoon showed her Victor in a crouch by the rough cave wall just before he rose to his feet. He approached her slowly, dressed only in worn jeans and the beads that decorated his loose hair.

 _I wish I’d asked him about the other beads, too. They obviously mean a lot to him. Some are made of wood, some are even metal. Maybe one day? My God, he’s beautiful…_ When she held out her hands, he took them in his large ones and held them gently.

“Hiya, Miss Observant,” he whispered.

 _He almost sounds shy. I hate this, I hate leaving him…_  “I think I miss you already.”

“Ain’t gotta worry ‘bout our cub. Won’t let anythin’ bad happen t’ ‘im; he ain’t gonna grow up like I did.”

“I know. I trust you all for that.” She sighed, and then tried to smile up at him. “I never got to see what you had stashed in the box marked ‘beans’, either. Care to tell me what that porn collection theme was?”

“Tony Stark.”

“Um … I don’t get it.”

Victor looked away from her to watch Brys for a moment, possibly just evading her gaze. “Most o’ those mags are tech titles, ‘cept fer when  _Maxim_ ,  _GQ_ , or  _Playboy_  gotta interview.” He shrugged.

“Oh. Well … he’s definitely a hottie – and you already snagged his phone number. I’m impressed.”

“Trust me, he ain’t gotta clue ‘bout tha beans box.”

“Can I call you sometimes? So I can … ask how Silas is doing?”

“Ya can call Brys fer that.” Watching her eyes fill with tears, he sighed. “Call me if yer ever in tha kinda trouble ya can’t get out o’ yerself, which is probly a shorter list than I ever suspected.”

“Victor … I love you…”

He finally wrapped her in his arms and she snuggled into his barrel chest of hard muscle and soft fur.

When he kissed her curls, she heard him whisper, “I love ya, babe.” When he let her go, he smiled to see that she was wearing the Prada boots he’d bought her in Vancouver. They looked only a little bit odd under her red cotton sundress. “When ya hero types say bye, whattaya usually say?” he whispered.

“For missions, I guess we say ‘be safe’. I’m on vacation, though.”

“Brys’s waitin’, darlin’.”

He had turned away and she watched his long hair sway behind him. It was growing closer to the back pockets of his jeans. Sniffing again, she went to the helicopter. Brys walked around it to help her climb up. In the seat, a bundle wrapped in tissue paper was waiting for her. She picked it up and sat in the seat in shock. Pressing it to her chest, she started to cry. It was a bunch of white roses in full bloom, with no thorns … eleven of them…

“Victor, wait!” She set the roses on the seat again and Brys helped her down. She ran to him and when he turned, he picked her up against his chest and kissed her deeply. There would always be a danger, she knew that – it was the reason she had to go – but in his arms, his hunger thrumming in his chest as he held her tightly, she knew he loved her.

When he broke the kiss, he shifted her in his arms and brought one of them up under her knees to carry her back. She touched the decorations in his hair and sighed, feeling the thrum in his throat. It was that low growl of the mating need that she had become addicted to.

“I want to ask you, eventually, someday – what these other beads are, what they mean to you.”

Brys had picked up her roses so that Victor could set her gently into the seat. He buckled her in securely. The Prada purse was at her boots.

“If ya wanted t’ know that shit,” he told her, his tone soft and low, “ya shoulda stayed in bed with me this mornin’.”

“I don’t know if I can cope with never seeing you again, never talking to you again…”

He leaned in and kissed her before stepping back. “I can’t play tha maybes game, darlin’ – once we got t’ Vancouver an’ ya made me see what ya could do t’ me … I started playin’ fer keeps. Might could run int’ each other down tha road; sometimes I skate in here on all claws an’ crash unexpected. Never say never.”

She reached for his hand and he touched her fingers, but then stepped back again. She hugged the bundle of roses and felt her tears slip down her cheeks. “Goodbye, Victor…”

“Be safe, darlin’.”

He shut her door as Brys got settled and began flipping switches. Tabitha watched him walk away as the rotors began to spin.

“I wish…” she whispered, but couldn’t speak anymore as tears choked her, and Brys hadn’t heard her over the whine and roar of the rotors.

~ ~ ~

Mr. Shaul Yahalom was introduced to her by Brys before she had to say goodbye again. He was patient as she hugged the cook and made him repeat his promise to call her often to let her know how Silas was, and Victor, too.

“I have a feeling he may be with us more often now,” Brys told her. “He loves Silas more fiercely already than I believe he thought possible.”

Tabitha smiled. “I hope having him around more is a good thing; he seems to keep you busy enough all the time when he’s home.”

“I think it will be a good thing – especially for him.” He hugged her again. “Be well, enjoy life, call me when you get to L.A. safely – well, after Wolverine is gone.”

As she watched him return to the helicopter, she looked beyond him and realized she recognized the massive private hangar in the distance.  _Is the Bugatti in there?_  Sighing when Brys was out of sight, she turned and faced the lawyer as airport workers were loading her luggage into a Mercedes-Benz SUV.

“Um, thank you for helping me. Do I call you Mr. Yahalom?”

He smiled, flashing perfect teeth. “If it would help you to be more at ease, you’re welcome to call me Shaul, Miss Smith.” He was far younger than she had expected, handsome, tall, and wearing lightly red-tinted rectangular glasses. The suit he wore might have cost more than the car. His hair was black and just slightly longer than trim lawyers generally kept it – at least on TV.

“Deal, if you call me Tabitha.”

He offered her his arm to get into the passenger side. “Mr. Creed told me you might prefer not to sit in the back.”

“Yeah, I’m not into being chauffeured back there. Are we going to the Vital Statistics office straight off?”

“We need to, if you are going to catch your flight.”

She wanted to ask a million questions, but she also wanted to sit quietly and miss her son and … miss Victor. “Do you work for Victor, or is he like a client of yours?”

“I am part of the legal team that works for the Ryu Foundation.” Glancing over at her for a moment, he gave her a charming smile. “Therefore, both are correct.”

Tabitha smiled and nodded.  _He’s nice – but something about him is … spooky._

“I assure you, Tabitha, you are safe from my ‘spooky’ side. In fact, you are a priority – Mr. Obinata’s – and Mr. Creed’s – orders.”

She turned her head to stare at him. “You’re a telepath.”

“Among other things – yes. My apologies. I wanted you to know at the outset.”

“Uh, thanks. I thought Victor didn’t like telepaths.”

The smile flashed again, with honest amusement in this one. “He doesn’t, in most cases. I’ve proven myself to Mr. Creed – we all have, or we don’t continue to be in his service.”

Tabitha was amazed at how the lawyer operated. She was used to telepaths who cared about the rights of others and the importance of not violating their trust. Shaul Yahalom seemed to move through the world as if any and all people in front of him were rival chess pieces. He appeared to be honestly charming and used that combined with an array of mutant gifts that were largely unseen, until obstacles started falling out of his way like smoke in the wind. She almost felt sorry for the poor sheep in the Vital Statistics office, at the airport ticket counter, and in the security area as she was waved through it, roses and all.

He escorted her onto the plane, to a window seat in first class, non-stop to LAX. He held out his smooth, pale hand and she shook it, almost in a daze. “Thank you for allowing me to be of service, Tabitha.”

“Yes, uh, sure.”

“You have this row to yourself, so that you may rest. Mr. Obinata sends his regards, and he wished to give you this.” He handed her a white envelope from his inner breast pocket. “Safe travels.”

“Thanks…”

He left and Tabitha stared at the envelope. She set her flowers on the next seat with her purse and opened it with a fingernail. Inside was a slip of paper, a larger folded official-looking hunk of paperwork, a credit card in her name to the Los Angeles branch of the bank she used to have in Westchester, and a set of keys.

Some of the folded papers looked like a collection of recipes – until she stared at it longer as Shaul had taught her and saw what it really was. She swallowed and whispered it as she read it, “Silas Creed. Mother: Tabitha Smith. Father: Victor Creed.”

Blinking back tears, she looked at the rest of the folded papers and gaped at the deed for an address in Malibu, California. The description included the phrase ‘beachfront property’, and in the owner slot was her name. The seller’s name was Victoria Sévenat _._

 _That’s the same name Victor put in my phone for his number._  She folded the papers and put them all back in the envelope. The card and keys went with it separately into her Prada purse. Fishing out the slip of paper, she read it while holding her breath. The handwriting was small, neat, and beautiful – therefore it wasn’t Victor’s: He wanted you to have this gift. Perhaps it will suit you better than the first one. Tabitha let out her breath and picked up her roses. She settled back and held them and after takeoff, tried to sleep with their gorgeous scent near her face. _Could Victor have found his diamond ring already? I hope he understands – it wasn’t right to keep it._

_~ ~ ~_

She couldn’t discard the roses before she met Logan just because he’d know who gave them to her. He’d be able to scent Victor all over her, so what did it matter.

On the curb outside of baggage claim at LAX, her truck was parked. Logan was leaning on it with the stub of a cigar still smoking a bit where he’d tucked it into his hat band. The porter who was helping her with a cart full of luggage looked at him nervously.

“Thanks,” she told him and tipped him generously with American cash. As he began loading the luggage into the bed of the truck, she faced Logan. “Hi. I’m still alive.”

“Did ya win a pageant?”

She ignored the dig about the roses and opened the passenger door to put them and her purse on the seat. His red Harley was parked behind the truck. “I’m glad you haven’t been smoking in here.”

“Natch.”

When she turned back to him, he was holding out her keys. She took them. “What now? I know you know. Does that mean you won’t hug me, after everything we went through?”

“Nope, don’t mean that.” He opened one arm and pulled her in when she came closer. “Glad yer alive, darlin’. What’re ya gonna do now?”

“I want to go home.” She smiled at him. “I got a house. First, I’d like to buy you dinner or something?”

“Never could refuse an offer o’ grub from a pretty gal.” He let her go and went to straddle the Harley. “Ya know this town?”

“Not really…”

“I’ll run point then. Gotta druther?”

“Your pick.”

“Brave woman.” He cracked a rare grin at her that showed his fangs. “What’re ya gonna do with yerself out here?”

“Heal, relax, get more tan – and get my abs back.”

“Noble goals. Follow a bit close, now, traffic in this burg’s a bitch.”

“Okay.”

When she sat behind the wheel of the big black truck and turned the engine over, she buckled up and waited for the Harley to pull out ahead of her. She followed him into some truly insane traffic, but as the sweet scent of Victor’s roses filled the cab, all she could feel was a strange sort of peace.

*****************************************************************

Victor sat on an armchair in the bedroom Brys and Perrin shared in the servant’s wing. He had carried the crib down the day before, after Tabitha had left. Silas was on the padded table as Brys taught Perrin how to change a diaper. The cook-turned-nanny had had the sense not to ask him.

Having the nursery stuff in the master suite simply wasn’t safe, or practical. Perrin had teased him a little about being the poster boy for why rich old families had nannies and governesses, but they knew the truth: some things Victor was too nervous to be responsible for. Brys had assured him that he’d learn in time how to handle the baby without worrying so much about how to control his strength, but Victor was also concerned about his mental state. He didn’t discuss that with them, but they seemed to understand anyway.

When the cub was clean with a fresh diaper, dressed in a one-piece thing that made him look like a baboon was about to hold him up on Pride Rock, Brys gave him to his father. It was a bit disturbing to be handed a bottle full of Tabitha’s breast milk, but he managed to keep the growling down.

He always felt foolish having to be told or corrected on how to do things properly, but was grateful for the instruction, regardless.

“Just a little more of an angle, sir – right like that.”

Victor watched the cub nurse in his arms with fascination warring with apprehension.

“Kill me now,” Perrin whispered, sitting on their bed and smiling at him.

“When is Nalani gettin’ t’ Vancouver?”

“Tomorrow, sir. Zane is set to bring them into Faro and then Perrin will pick them up.”

“Good.” He thought about Leimomi’s free-spirited youngest, and frowned. “Brys, let’s drop tha ‘sir’ shit, huh?”

“Sir? Uh…”

“Yer smirkin’ imp over there ain’t called me ‘Mr. Creed’ or ‘sir’ in ages. Nalani’s not tha type t’ start, an’ I ain’t gonna try t’ make ‘er, seein’ as she’s doin’ me a huge favor. Hell, ‘er an’ ‘er family don’t even work fer me, just ‘er ma does.”

“What … do you want me to call you?”

“First guess, I’d say ‘Victor’. Or ‘asshole’, I do answer t’ that, too.”

Perrin chuckled as Brys backed up closer to him. He threw his arms around his neck as the cook plopped down to sit between his lover’s thighs.

“It’s a … habit,” Brys muttered.

“Don’t much care if a few ‘sirs’ slip out while yer breakin’ tha habit. Seems t’ me, we just turned int’ a weird-ass li’l family fer ‘is sake,” Victor added, looking down and smiling at his cub.

“Yes, sir. I mean, uh … Victor.”

Victor looked up and winked at him. “Ya work on that, an’ I’ll work on askin’ fer shit, ‘steada orderin’ an’ demandin’ – or threatenin’...” He adjusted how he was holding the bottle. “Ya said cubs can feel stuff, sense emotions an’ shit. I don’t want mine feelin’ afraid o’ me … don’t want ‘im t’ fear jack.”

Perrin kissed Brys on the cheek and smiled at Victor. “Kill me now,” he repeated in a contented whisper.

~ ~ ~

Sitting on the stairs and watching as the dark-skinned Hawaiian beauty carried his cub up to the third floor to nurse him, Victor nodded to her husband as he brought their own cub up to their suite, just down from Tabitha’s empty room.

Between Brys and Nalani, he was getting better at caring for his son, and the time to relax and learn had helped him stay distracted.

“Victor?” Brys’s voice called, still slightly timid, across the vast open entrance hall. “You wanted a reminder? It’s almost time – you’re due in Detroit tonight.”

“Thanks,” he muttered.

He frowned and stretched when he got up and headed upstairs to shower. While shedding clothes in the master suite, he could hear Perrin in the dressing room, setting out a suit. He stopped at the fireplace mantel and touched the crystal box that held the curling lock of Bonnie’s hair. The metal case holding his personal Stark device sat beside it. On top of the case was a coiled adamantium necklace chain threaded through an expensive diamond engagement ring with an adamantium setting.

When the boy approached, he knew he was nude and in heat before his arms came around him to embrace his waist.

“Come along, Victor. You need to get out, get some different air in your lungs and perhaps some blood on your claws?”

“Gonna miss tha cub, but yeah, need that.” Perrin worked his hard cock between Victor’s asscheeks and rested it there as one hand reached to stroke him. “Might end up in Chicago before I come back – it’s close t’ Detroit, an’ that’s a serious distraction.”

“Mmm, you need to invite him here someday; I’d love to sample your pet metamorph. He could be Brys, so I could watch you fuck him.”

Victor smirked. “An’ folks call me ‘evil’. Rather take ya with me there, but I guess that’s a bad idea.”

“Ask your crush Stark for one of his holographic toys that would let me look like someone else in public – problem solved?”

Victor broke free just to turn and lean down to kiss him. “Maybe. Or maybe I’ll just kill every Canuck sonovabitch who still has yer sexy mug on a wanted poster.”

“That works, too.”

Growling with hunger, Victor picked him up and tossed him onto his bed on his back. “Ya know, if I could get ya preg, it’d simplify my life a whole fuckin’ lot.”

Perrin’s mock pout morphed into a sly smirk as wicked as Victor’s. “Wish in one hand…” he teased and laughed when Victor pounced and batted him onto his stomach.

~ ~ ~

The opulent suite in downtown Detroit reeked of blood and voided bowels from five slashed, bitten, and hollowed out male corpses littering the floors. The perfume of death had helped him fall asleep, but his peaceful and fed rest was soon shattered by nightmares.

It had begun with the sweet image of his mate giving him her full breasts to drink from.  _‘If you need to, you can drink again. I want you to.’_ She had gasped as he suckled, holding his head and stroking his hair. He’d frowned in his sleep, the pain of loss a sharp reminder that she wasn’t his mate – she had left him.  _‘Drink, my love… Oh, Victor … I love you, I’m so sorry for them all and what they did to you… Did to you… Did to you…’_ The milk was warm and sweet, swallowed greedily as he suckled the soft breast. It soothed the hunger that twisted in his small, thin body. Somewhere, close, a baby was screaming in a crib. He could feel the glare of the light blue eyes, just like ma’s, that watched him from the corner.

Thin arms, long brown and straight hair, she held his head against her breast. She was crying – he hadn’t meant to scare her when he’d jumped on her in the rocking chair, torn cloth, and taken it.  _‘Drink, my baby; Victor, I’m so sorry…’_  Heavy tread across the floor startled them both. Terrified, he released the nipple and nearly fell off of her lap. Crawling under the bed, he cowered on his belly and trembled.

Ma got up and rose to get the screaming baby. The moment she lifted him, it was too late. Fear was there, shoving open the door so hard it smashed into the wall as the loud brutal male stomped in, sweating and reeking from working in the field. The smell made his back sting. He could still feel the lash of the hard, pliant switch cutting into it when his small body had failed to keep working. All of him hurt, all the time now: joints, jaw, mouth, fingers, toes, ears, stomach, even his eyes … every part.

_‘Five feet away an’ ya can’t hear that boy screamin’? Sittin’ ‘round with yer nightdress torn open like a harlot, but not feedin’ tha right boy? He’s gonna learn, Victoria.’_

_‘Zebabiah, please don’t hurt him anymore, he’s getting so weak…’_

_‘He is weak, cuz ya coddle ‘im all tha time, teach ‘im t’ fake sick t’ skip ‘is chores! Yer gonna turn ‘im int’ a weak an’ useless woman! He’s gotta be a man, gotta obey, an’ pull ‘is weight. Feed tha baby, he’s screamin’ like a devil’s got ‘im! Get that girl t’ help fer once!’_

The eyes that glared darted behind the rocking chair, but the man didn’t strike. Hatred boiled up in Victor.

_‘Get out here, boy.’_

The lashes came again the moment he obeyed, marking the thin white scars. His stomach, always so weak, surged. The switch came again, even as he heaved, the violent burning of milk from a cramping stomach bursting from mouth and nose.

_‘Ya stole it, ya damn thief, now yer gonna waste it? Lick it up, boy, or by God, I’ll break yer jaw an’ pour it down yer throat!’_

Choked by terror and vomit, he shook as he bent his head, trying to obey. The lashes fell until his blood ran over old scars from new cuts. Pa’s huge hand grabbed his hair and twisted, yanking his head up.

_‘I said ya could have food when ya worked a full day, boy. Yer brother Luther is still out there in tha heat while yer in here pawin’ at yer own ma’s body like one o’ those grubby soldiers at tha fort with their godless women. It’s a sin, boy – it’s a dirty sin, an’ sinners gotta be punished!’_

_‘Zebabiah, please, he’s just sick, an’ hungry, he didn’t mean it like that…’_

Victor could see them: the baby clutched against her breasts, still crying – the milk was his. The small female child hid, protected under ma’s arm, as she stared at him on his hands and knees in vomited milk. From the moment she came, his ma’s milk and warmth wasn’t his anymore. The hate bubbled up and he let out a growl. Horrified, he looked up at his pa in fresh terror and saw his amber eyes flash mean.

_‘That’s enough o’ that foolish game, too! Ya ain’t pretendin’ t’ be no dumb animal no more. Gonna learn ya, boy – gonna straighten ya out, so’s ya can grow t’ be a hard workin’ an’ godly man! One way or tha other.’_

The switch was still, but the boot struck fast as his hair was clutched harder. The short, spiky golden hair was torn out in a clump when the dusty boot struck his ribs. He heard a dull snap and pain tore his mouth open in a scream. Ma sobbed but did nothing, the baby cried, but the female child just stared, wide-eyed and trembling.

Victor twisted his body to avoid it, but the boot struck again, blazing pain up his back. Stunned silent, he lay as still as he could. Blood was running from his mouth, a tooth had cut into it. His clothes were wet from spewed milk and piss.

_Quiet an’ still, quiet an’ still … go away go away go away…_

_‘Brayin’ like a lamed mule ain’t how t’ be a man, ya useless lazy thievin’ waste! Ya better be up an’ out in that field t’morrow boy, or it’ll go worse fer ya!’_  The boots stomped to the doorway.  _‘Touch yer ma’s body like that again, take what ain’t yers again, an’ I’ll lash yer hide ‘til every inch is red an’ bloody. Yer gonna learn t’ obey yer pa – sooner or later.’_

When the boots left, he began to cry quietly. He couldn’t move. He felt sick again from the feeling of the mess he was lying in. It had splashed onto his face and was soaking into his hair.

_‘Please help your brother, I have to feed the baby and get him quiet.’_

He heard the timid movement, but when he felt the touch on his shoulder, a terrible sound came from his mouth: a hiss like a rat when the cat got it. He fought to move, dragged his body off the floor and crawled away on hands and knees. In the next room that he had to share with his brother, he hid under their small bed and curled his body into a shuddering and bleeding ball. Every breath, every movement, was pain. Underneath it all, the fearful grinding hunger still burned…

~ ~ ~

Snarling as he snapped awake, Victor rended the bed, mattress and all, as he fought to get free. His legs kicked, the clawed toes shredding the blankets. He fell onto the floor where his claws dug in, gouging the gray marble. His jaw dropped, the fangs dripping, ready to slash, rend, kill…

Struck by the sweet reek of death and the tantalizing scent of blood that layered over the smell of his fear and sweat, he forced himself to go quiet and still.

Like an echo fading into the fog of his broken mind, he heard the terror of a small voice chanting,  _Go away go away go away…_

When it stopped, the nightmare images faded with it. He collapsed on the cool floor, panting and trembling, but he couldn’t remember why. Afraid, he struggled up, retracted his claws and wiped his hands dry, if not clean, on the corner of a blanket. Grabbing his phone, he hit the speed dial for the pilot.

“Chicago, fast as ya can get my ass there. I’m comin’ now.”

“You got it Boss, the jet’s ready.”

He passed a mirror once he was dressed again in the damaged suit, to be sure his coat hid most of the gore. His amber eyes flashed under the lights and he glared at his reflection and turned away from it quickly. On the jet, he flopped into his chair, the coat mostly sparing it from the mess on him.

For the entire flight, he stared out the window at the black world dotted with white, red, and yellow lights as his hands gripped the arms of the chair so that they couldn’t shake.

As they flew over Chicago and circled to land at O’Hare, the lights got thicker. It didn’t look real, but he knew it was ripe and ready … and full of prey. The trembling stopped. He leaned on the armrest close the window and stared out as the jet tilted to land. His other hand lifted as both hungers crested. His cock thickened, the claws sliding out slow and curling long.

“Gonna make ya bleed,” he spoke in a slaughterhouse rasp to the unseen prey. “Sabretooth is comin’ t’ play; gonna show ya what ‘hunter an’ hunted’ means… Gonna learn ya, one way or tha other…”

 

**FINI**

 

(Sabretooth will return in _Blood Song_.)

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Down the Merry Stream" is an old time English folk song that dates back to the Revolutionary War period (1775–1783), and pre-Victor. It was commonly played on fiddle and banjo. Victor is singing a downtempo haunting version, as can be heard in the not-as-old Country tune called "Grandma’s Song", by Gail Davies. The French stuff: mon beau chat (my beautiful cat). The caretaker of the Hawaii safe house is Leimomi, which means “daughter of pearls”. Her youngest granddaughter’s name Nalani means “quiet skies”. Her baby son’s name Kaleho means “cowry shell”. The father is Kai, “from the sea”. Sooner or later, I’ll probably write a fic of Victor in Hawaii, since he’s in the snow so much. Of course, the onsie Silas is wearing is a Simba one from Disney’s "The Lion King", hence Victor’s “baboon hold him over Pride Rock” joke.
> 
> For those who have read this story before, you may want to poke through earlier chapters again – I’ve run a full course of edits and ended up adding a lot more dialogue and other goodies. If I missed any accent typos or other boo-boos, I’ll catch them and fix them.
> 
> It is going to be strange to be finished with this story, and I may have withdrawals. Luckily for me, I have plenty of Sabretooth tales waiting in the wings to be added to the series, and some of them are either complete or partially finished already. I’m actually squeeing in anticipation to post the first of my Sabretooth/Iron Man fics, as well as the Sabretooth/Jean Grey fics. Victor is my drug, and my muse is apparently a total slut for him. LOL.
> 
> As always, thanks to everyone for reading, please do review, I love to hear from you. My stories will all eventually be on my blog (www.mindseyetheatre.net), and I can respond to comments/reviews here, on the blog, via email, or via @MET_Fic – AnonGrimm


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